Something Beautiful
by acaelousqueadcentrum
Summary: A collection of non-linear stories about Gail and Holly exploring a possible future for the two of them.
1. Sunday's Child 1

**Disclaimer:** _I don't own Rookie Blue or the song "Something Beautiful" by NEEDTOBREATHE_

She's born on a Sunday and you're glad. You don't put much stock into old superstitions, but you were born on a Wednesday and you think that "full of woe" pretty much set the tone for how you'd greet the world for the rest of your life. And beautiful Holly, sweet Holly was born on a Friday, and "loving and giving" fits your wife's personality to a T. So when Holly gives birth to your tiny, loud daughter on a Sunday morning, you're glad. This girl's got a long "bonny and blithe and good and gay" life waiting for her.


	2. Sunday's Child 2

You only snicker at "gay" twice before Holly sighs your name in exasperation.

"It doesn't just mean 'girls liking girls or boys liking boys,' Gail," she says as the tip of her strong, sturdy finger traces along the delicate curve of your nursing daughter's cheek. "It means bright and lively and beautiful and happy."

You move closer to the bed and watch as tiny lips work steady against Holly's breast. "Do you think she'll be happy," you ask in a small whisper.

You can feel the warmth of brown eyes on you.

"We love her," Holly responds, "It'll be enough."


	3. First Dates

Depending on who you asked, their first date was either batting cages or their first dinner and a movie together about five weeks after the shooting at the precinct. Unfortunately, Dov had asked.

"But batting cages is definitely our first date, Holly," Gail exclaimed. "It was awkward and you laughed at me and then on the way home you bought me ice cream. It's kind of the best first date I've ever had, balls aside."

Holly can't help but smirk at the unintended double entendre.

"The batting cages could be a first date. But our first date was pesto pizza at Gil's and _The Hunger Games_ after."

Gail snorts. "Holly, we'd been having sex for weeks before that night. You can't have a first date if you almost miss your reservation because you're having a quickie in the shower instead of getting ready and then almost run a red light on the way home to have sex again."

"Well, _Gail_, you can't count the batting cages because as far as you knew at the time you were entirely, completely, undoubtedly straight."

Holly's smirk was adorable and infuriating. And, to Gail's frequent frustration, the other woman was entirely aware of the reaction it caused in the blonde.

"Okay, _Holly_, why that night, why not any of the other times we went to the Penny or a movie or got dinner?"

Gail tapped her fingers against the wood of the table, waiting for Holly to respond.

After a moment of silence and a deep breath, Holly grabbed the shorter woman's hands and began to speak.

"Because that night was the first time you held my hand and kissed me in public outside of a hospital waiting room. We got pizza and normally just split the bill, but that night you grabbed the check and told the waiter you were going to treat your girl. Then after you paid and we got our coats, we walked to the theatre and you held my hand the whole time. And when we got to the ticket booth and I tried to pay for the movie tickets, you kissed me on my nose and said that this night was your treat, that you were taking me out for the night. It was just, it was a perfect night, you know? And so that's our first date, that perfect night."

The playful argument had turned into a soulful revelation, and for a moment Gail felt embarrassed to realize that she was sitting in a booth at the Penny, in front of her friends and her brother. But then she remembered the night in question, and how proud she had felt in taking Holly out, in making it clear that she was in this relationship in public as much as she was in private. And so the moment passed, and she brought Holly's hands, clasped tight in her own, up to her lips for a gentle kiss.

And then turned to smack Dov on the back of the head, smiling as he yelped, "So, you big baby, our anniversary is the night we got pizza from Gil's and saw _The Hunger Games._ Now go get us another round."


	4. Melting

From the Sunday's Child arc.

"Veronica," Holly says from the other end of the couch, eyes closed and hands busy fanning her face with a fat book of baby names.

"Nope," you respond. "Veto. The kid in the comic strip and the nickname 'Ronnie.' No way."

"Alright," she says, opening the book to a random page with a sigh. "What about Madeline?"

"What? The girl who hangs out with French nuns?" Your wife's shirt is pulled up and over her belly, and her skin sticky with summer heat.

"She didn't hang out with nuns, Gail, she was in an orphanage run by nuns."

"Well, there you go, our kid's not an orphan, we're not giving her the name of a famous orphan. And before you say it, no 'Annie' either." You take a quickly melting ice cube out of the glass of water on the coffee table and make a fist around it, letting the cool drops fall onto Holly's rounded belly.

She hisses, but not uncomfortably.

You grab another ice cube.

"No orphans, okay." She flips a few pages and looks up at you, "do you have anything against pilots?"

You arrange your face into one of contemplation, "no, don't think so."

"Okay," she says, "what about Amelia?"

"Hol, Amelia Earhart disappeared somewhere over the ocean, do we really want to give our kid the name of someone who didn't just fail but disappeared into thin air?"

Before she can respond she gasps; the baby is active tonight. It still amazes you how you can watch your kid swim around in her mother's belly, trace her movements through the ripples and ridges she creates on the surface of your wife's stomach. You drip some ice water over a little bump you think is a foot, and then massage the water into Holly's skin, feeling the press of something human and miraculous against your fingers.

"So, no Amelia. But what about Jacqueline, there was a famous pilot named Jacqueline?"

You sound it out, feeling how the name fits in your mouth. "Jacqueline Stewart … Jackie Peck … Jack Stewart-Peck. Maybe, but it's missing something. It just sounds … ordinary." You're not sure why, but it just doesn't feel right for the foot knocking against your palm.

"Okay, one more name and then bed?"

You can hear your wife's exhaustion in her voice; she's been working hard to get the lab ready for her imminent leave of absence. More than once she's fallen asleep on the couch almost immediately after dinner.

"Okay, slugger, one more and then to bed."

Holly makes a show of flipping blindly through the pages before dropping her finger to a random line on the page.

"Oh," she says, "I think you'll like this one."

"What is it," you respond, your toes curling in anticipation.

"Glinda. It means pretty."

It takes you a minute to realize why the name sounds so familiar.

"Glinda, Holly? Like, _Wizard of Oz_ Glinda? The good witch?"

Your wife's laughter rings in your ears, soaks into you and echoes around in your heart. You can feel the wide smile on your face and don't even bother to try and hide it.

"I'm not even going to deign that with a response, Holly Stewart," you say as you gently pull down her shirt and move to stand up. "Now let's get you off to bed before your flying monkeys come out."


	5. When You Know

Holly can remember the exact moment her stomach flopped and her heart flipped a beat and she fell into head over heels in love with a surly cop named Gail Peck.

It certainly wasn't their first encounter, though she certainly felt a shiver run along her spine when she looked up and into Gail's ice-blue eyes. There was an immediate attraction, she'll cop to that, but it definitely wasn't love. Not even when Gail followed her to the lab and told her she smelled and then spoke in confusing metaphors about cats and trees. Holly will cop to feeling an attraction, to being a little amused and wholly charmed by this pale and moody woman she found at her side for the rest of the day.

It wasn't batting cages, though the heat was there by then, a soft ache deep inside that pulled all her nerves taut. Watching Gail throw the bat, coaxing her back into the cage like a newborn foal, pulling the smaller woman flush against her and guiding her through the motions. That wasn't love, but it was definitely lust, and she could feel the flush of arousal flit through her veins. When Gail had told her to take her jacket off if she was so hot Holly had let out a big belly laugh and suggested they go out for ice cream, her treat.

The beginnings of love might have been there that day she picked up an injured Gail at the hospital. The cold shaft of worry that cut through her breath when she heard Gail's voicemail asking for a ride hadn't melted until she'd arrived and saw the blonde woman standing on her own two feet. She didn't know what happened, and Gail didn't offer much of an explanation, but they'd stopped to pick up a bag of cheese puffs (Gail had claimed they'd been prescribed for her) and an _actual_ prescription to ward off the inevitable pain when she came down off the Oxy. And then Holly had tucked Gail into bed at the apartment she shared with Dov and Chris, sitting by the bed until Gail succumbed to the drugs in her system.

At the very least, that was the day Holly realized that she was falling, and needed to start scrambling for purchase, needed to get her bearings about her again. And that was the reason she said yes to a blind date one of her friends from the lab set up for her. Because Gail was straight and she was gay, Gail was looking for friendship and the feelings Holly was starting to recognize—the racing of her heart, the sweating of her palms—were decidedly not limited to "friendly."

It wasn't even the day after, when Gail proved her wrong, and then right, and then wrong again. A kiss in an interrogation room, a dismissal in a squad room, and then something … more … in the hospital waiting room. Holly wasn't sure what Gail was, wasn't sure if Gail was sure what Gail was, but she knew that the other woman's doors weren't entirely closed to her.

It wasn't the next morning, or the morning after that, when she woke up with Gail's hair spread across her pillow and Gail's hand on her hip, two days of stress and fear having taken their toll on the younger woman. On both of them, if Holly was honest with herself. Their co-sleeping had been the result of exhaustion, of broken walls and friends struggling to survive, but seeing Gail's nose scrunch up as the rays of sunshine crossed her delicate eyelids was almost enough to make the terror of Ford's rampage through 15 Division a fading memory.

The first time they had sex (she really can't say "slept together" since Gail basically attacked her in the foyer and there was no bed much less any sleep) she knew she was pretty deep into the fall, and was pretty sure Gail was on her way there was well. There was something akin to wonder in Gail's eyes and touch that night. But there was still room to step back if they needed to, if Gail decided to climb a tree or she started to doubt the sincerity of Gail's assurances that this didn't feel like an experiment or a phase.

She felt her heart stop one Sunday morning when Gail stopped by early with coffee and donuts, felt it stop and then start up again to keep time with the other woman's smile. Gail, her adorable, cranky Gail, on her doorstep dressed in old jogging gear and with an embarrassed bashful smile on her face. Gail who had missed her the night before, missed holding her and waking up with her, missed burying her face in Holly's side or chest or arm when the sun threatened to creep into her eyes again. Gail, who hated running but woke up early to bring breakfast and ask if she could come along on the morning's jog. Her bold and beautiful and brassy Gail.

Holly felt her heart stop and start and all the pieces of her life click into place for this perfect moment.

They didn't get around to running that morning.

Neither complained.


	6. Wings

It crept up on her. All of a sudden she couldn't think of anything but Holly, anyone but Holly. When she was happy, she wanted to call the other woman up and spread out her joy like wings. When she was sad, or angry, or annoyed, she wanted to wrap herself up in Holly's healing wings, and let the brunette soothe away all her cracks and rough edges. Gail realized she could barely remember what life felt like without her new friend, and she was afraid to think about what would be left of her life without her brown-eyed doctor.


	7. Color Coordination

"Gail," Holly says one night after they've turned out the lights and climbed into bed. "What's your real hair color?"

It was three weeks after Ford, and they'd spent almost every night this week in the same bed. No sex yet, but a lot of hands on skin and lips on lips. Neither of them was ready to go any further—they'd agreed to go slow while Gail caught up to the idea of dating a woman and Holly worked through her fear that she was falling in love with a straight girl. Right now spending the night was about trusting each other, having someone to turn to in the night, and playful morning kisses. They'd get to sex eventually—probably sooner rather than later if the growing intensity of Gail's kisses were anything to go by—but in the meantime they were just learning to love each other.

"Gail?" Holly said again, nudging the woman next to her.

The blonde woman rolled so they were face to face.

"I'm trying to decide how to answer that," she said, taking Holly's hand and bringing it to rest over her breast, sighing contentedly when the brunette gave her flesh a gentle squeeze.

"Oh, really," Holly asked, amused. "And what are your options?"

"Well," Gail said, "I could tell you …"

"Or," Holly prompted, leaning in to kiss the corner of the smaller woman's mouth.

"Or," Gail whispered huskily against Holly's lips, "It could be a surprise, and if you're patient, you can find out all on your own very soon."

Distracted by the feel of Gail's tongue slipping past her lips to thrust against her own, Holly didn't realize the implications of Gail's answer right away.

_Oh,_ she thought. _Ohhhhh._

Looks like they'd be crossing that line sooner than she thought.


	8. Lucky

"I always imagined that if I ever had a son I'd name him after my dad," you say quietly in the dark room.

You're both naked and sprawled on the bed. You can feel the sweat drying on your skin as you let your fingers play in your wife's silky blonde hair.

You've known that you're going to be parents for three hours and thirty—no, forty-five minutes, give or take. You took the test while Gail was heating up leftover pizza for dinner, and when you came back into the kitchen, eyes wide and hands shaking, the words just fell out of your mouth, little baby birds taking to air for the first time.

"What?" Gail had said, slowly turning around, the word more air than sound.

"We're pregnant," you repeat, "we're pregnant."

Your hands are steady now. And you're smiling, wide and free. You feel like laughing, you're so happy in this sweet moment.

"You're pregnant," your wife says, as if the words don't quite feel right in her mouth yet.

You take a step towards her to open the microwave door; if you don't the damn thing will just keep beeping.

"I took a test, well, I took two tests. Both were positive. We should make an appointment to see my OB-GYN, but yes, all signs point to baby on board."

You can tell the exact moment when she lets herself give in to the hope and happiness that she's been trying so hard not to acknowledge these past few weeks. It's just before a matching smile cracks across her face and she launches herself at you.

"A baby," she says wondrously, "our baby."

"Mmmhmm," you nod, tears threatening in the corners of your eyes. Happy tears.

Gail stretches up on her tip-toes and wraps her arms tight around you before closing the distance between your mouths to pepper your face with tiny kisses.

"Our baby," she says again, breath hot against your jaw. A joyous laugh escaping from her chest, and soon her delicate kisses turn heated and deep. You seek out her mouth and let your tongue trace the smile on her lips. Soon her hands are roaming over your body, pulling your sweater up and out of your jeans, her palms cool against the hot skin of your back before yanking your shirt over your head and attaching her mouth to the pulse point in the hollow of your neck.

That was hours ago.

Now you're naked in the dark room with your wife at your side, thinking about the future, the life you've created together, the child that you already love with your whole heart.

"Your mom would like that," Gail says, "and it would prevent my brother from trying to make a case for naming the kid after him."

You poke her gently. "And what about you, what do you think?"

She reaches down to the end of the bed to pull the duvet over the two of you. "Let me try it out," she says with a smirk. Suddenly she's calling out loudly, "Ian Michael! Ian Michael Peck! Ian Michael Peck-Stewart, you go to bed right now."

She rolls over and braces herself above you, her hair falling down to curtain you both off from the rest of the world.

"I think," Gail says slowly, "that it's a wonderful way to honor the wonderful man I wish I had the chance to meet. And if we do have a boy, and he has even half the gumption and grit of the man in the stories your mom tells, or a quarter of your dad's goodness and kindness, we'll still be the proud parents of the most kickass kid on the planet."

You laugh.

Your wife is ridiculous.

You are the luckiest woman on the planet.


	9. Oh, Baby

Gail was exhausted. It had been a hellish week. Some flu virus was making its way through the 15, taking down everyone in its wake. She'd been working double shifts to cover for the officers out sick, and by Friday night the lack of sleep and the extra work had finally caught up to her. Frank had shown his appreciation by telling her to take Monday off, so if she could make it through the next hour without killing anyone, she'd be free from this place for the next three days.

By the time her shift ended, all Gail wanted was to go home, take off her pants, and have her girlfriend cuddle up with her on the couch for the evening. She didn't even regret flipping Chloe off when the eternally perky pain in her ass asked if she and Holly would be interested in a double at the Penny that night.

To be fair, it was only a half-hearted flip-off.

She really didn't have the energy to give it her best.

When Holly came home she found her girlfriend face down on the couch, gently snoring as the soft light of the television played over the blonde's pale skin.

"Oh, baby," the brunette said as she quietly put down her bag and toed off her shoes. As silently as possible, Holly made her way down the hall toward the bedroom where she changed out of her lab clothes and into a worn pair of yoga pants and an old, faded uni sweatshirt before heading back toward the couch.

She stood over her sleeping Gail, just to look at her for a moment. It seemed like forever since she'd seen the shorter woman beyond passing each other at a crime scene, since she'd been able to just look at her love and drink her in.

Truth be told, it hadn't been a great week for Holly either. She might not have been working successive doubles like her girlfriend, but she hadn't been sleeping all that well either. She missed Gail. She missed the sound of Gail breathing in the night, the feel of the other woman's hair brush against her skin, the delicate ballet of two people in love seeking each other's warmth in the night. She didn't sleep well without Gail, not anymore.

Holly reached over to grab the quilt from the back of the couch, and then gently covered Gail before crouching down and brushing blonde strands out of the other woman's eyes.

"Hey," she whispered softly, her hand cupping Gail's cheek, "hey, Officer Peck…"

Gail stirred and scrunched her nose up in the most adorable way, mumbling something unintelligible into the pillow under her head.

Holly laughed softly, "What was that, sweetheart?"

The blonde rolled over just the slightest and looked up at Holly with sleepy blue eyes.

"I said, _Holly_, that Officer Peck is off-duty until Tuesday."

"Oh, really," Holly said with a smile, "whatever shall the city do without you?"

Gail closed her eyes again and sighed, "It'll have to survive, Lunchbox."

"Indeed it will, Officer."

Holly lifted the corner of the quilt and lay down next to the blonde on the couch. Gail's body was warm and inviting, and she curled herself around the smaller woman. Already Gail's face was heavy with sleep, her features slack and relaxed as she slipped back into unconsciousness.

"Oh, baby," Holly said again, this time whispering it against the sleeping woman's forehead. Gail sighed in her sleep and snuggled closer, wrapping her arms around her girlfriend and burrowing her nose into the hollow of Holly's throat.

It wasn't long before Holly felt sleep beckon.

She let it take her.


	10. What a Peck Is

Rationally, Gail knows it isn't Steve's fault that she's feeling this way. But that won't stop her from blaming him for the heavy aching pressure she's had building under her ribs for the past few months.

She's sitting on a padded window seat in a sunny room, swinging her legs and watching while her brother changes a diaper on his four-day-old son. Ethan's caramel skin and curly dark hair are a sharp contrast to the pale blue sleeper Steve is gently guiding tiny arms and legs into. The tiny boy is barely bigger than his father's hands, but Steve lifts him off the changing table and fits him into the crook of his arm as if he's been doing it his whole life.

Steady, that's what Gail thinks when she thinks of her brother. He's been a rock in her life, a strong and solid presence since as far back as she can remember. He was the first person in her life that loved her absolutely and for herself, not for who she was or what she could bring to the family legacy.

And now he's not hers anymore. Now he's a partner and a father and his steady hands will guide his two young boys, and however many more there are to come, to be the kind of strong and gentle, kind and whole-hearted men that he is. And amid all her happy feelings, her joy at seeing Steve wrestle with Leo or whisper into his newborn son's ear while he rubs soothing circles on the boy's tiny back, at watching him hold hands with Traci in the absentminded moments of the day, amid all these things Gail is just a little bit sad. She feels just the hint of a loss.

Privately, she's convinced that this is just the way things are; all the happiest moments in her life seem to be tinged with the slightest hint of sadness.

She's lost in this train of thought when a tiny stuffed rabbit hits her in the face.

"Where'd you go, Gaily," Steve says softly, his old nickname for her earning him a scowl, "you were off in Gail-land. What's up with you?"

She picks at the fur on the rabbit, feeling the ache in her chest pulse hot and heavy with the beat of her heart. She pushes it back down, she's supposed to be celebrating her new nephew today, not mourning how her world has changed. Not trying to figure out whether it's changed for the better or not.

"Oh, nothing, Ugly. I'm just hoping that poor kid inherited Traci's looks. I'd hate for him to be stuck with your stupid face."

He laughs out loud and crosses the room in broad strides to pull her head into his chest and drop a kiss on her forehead, smirking when she tries to pull out of his grasp.

"Now, Gail Peck," he says, ignoring her muttering, "it's time for you to meet your nephew."

"I came to the hospital, you big oaf," she says, smoothing her hair back, "we've already met."

"No," he responds as he prods her toward the rocking chair in the corner of the room. "You and Holly came to the hospital. Holly met Ethan. You stood in the corner of the room and glared at mom when you weren't sneaking looks at your girl."

His hand on her shoulder guides to sit and then, to her terror, he starts to lower the bundle in his arms.

"What, are you crazy," she whispers furiously at him, "I don't know what to do with a baby."

"It's simple," he responded, maneuvering her arms into place before gently placing his son in them, "his head gets supported by your elbow, his butt by your hand, and if your arm gets tired, you support your elbow with your other arm."

"Now," he says, stepping back, "Ethan, meet your crazy Aunt Gail. She's probably going to be one who teaches you to swear and drink, so you're going to want to keep her around."

She looks down at the weight in her arms, and some of that hot heaviness in her chest slips away. He's beautiful in that angelic innocence that all babies seem to have while sleeping. He has a tiny button nose that belies no obvious parental inheritance, but she knows from the pictures on Holly's cell phone that he has Traci's dark, dark eyes. And his tiny lips, pursed and smacking just the slightest as he dreams, those are all Steve. This boy is going to be a heart-breaker.

He might have already broken hers.

"If you're really lucky," she leans in and whispers, "I'll get your Aunt Holly to teach you how to score with the ladies. Or the guys, whatever makes you happy."

Steve sniggers but smiles proudly as his sister drops a delicate kiss on the baby's nose. She's so engaged in watching the sleeping boy that the sound of his phone snapping their picture escapes her.

"So," he says after a few minutes of watching his sister and son bond, "you must be pretty serious about Holly if you're planning to let her teach my kid how to romance."

Gail's quiet for a few moments, conflicting desires waging a desperate war inside her. The need to confide, to seek guidance from the man who has always had her back wins out over the instinct to withdraw, to isolate herself against the harsh unknown of the outside world.

When she speaks, it's so quiet that Steve has to bow his head to hear her.

"Holly will be a great mother someday," she says, unwilling to meet his eyes.

So this is a serious talk then. They haven't had one of these in years, but Steve still remembers how to sit still and quiet and let Gail slowly come to him.

He moves to sit on the floor, ready to listen.

There's a moment of silence before Gail continues.

"She will be, you know, she's so good with everyone. And I'm," Gail pauses to swallow against the lump of fear in her throat, "and I'm not. And I know that someday she wants this, you know? The partner and the kid and the whole damn future. But what, but what if I can't give it to her, Steve? I want to give it to her, I do. I want to be the person who gives her the future, but what if I try and I can't do it and I ruin not just my life but hers too? I don't care if I ruin my life, but I don't know what I'd do if I ruin hers too."

And there it is, there's the crux of the complicated puzzle that is Gail. Steve loves his parents, but sometimes, times like now, he could just shake them. Because the string at the end of the bubble of fear he can see fighting its way up in Gail's chest is firmly attached to their mother and her beliefs about what a Peck should be and what a Peck should do, and their father's inability to step in-between his wife's expectations and his little girl's heart.

"Hey," he says, putting his hands on her feet, hoping his touch will ground her, will be the foundation she so desperately needs in this moment. "Gail," and then again a little more forcefully, but still quiet in deference to the sleeping boy in his sister's arms, "Gail." It takes a moment, but she lifts her head to meet his eyes.

There are a lot of things he could say at this point. He could tell her that she won't ruin anything, but they both know that he can't promise that. He could tell her that Holly loves her and will love her no matter what, but she knows that already. He could even take their mother's route and tell her to buck up, that Pecks don't let themselves show fear, but he knows that's a lie in the same way he knows the feel of his son's tiny fingers against his palm.

Instead he sticks with what is simple and what is true.

"Gail," he says, "do you love her?"

"Yes."

There's no hesitation in her answer.

"Does she love you?"

Her answer is softer, but her voice is impossibly strong.

"Yes."

"What do you want, Gail?"

She looks confused for a minute or two, as if no one's ever asked her that question before.

Maybe no one has.

Gail brings her free hand up to smooth Ethan's unruly hair.

"I want Holly. I want to marry her and have kids with her. I want to be the person she loves, I want to be the person who is good enough for her." She stops, and the look on her face is wondrous. The hot ball under her ribcage is blossoming and she can feel its petals unfurl in every corner of her body. It's warm and sweet and feels like lazy Sunday mornings with Holly.

Gail laughs in awe. All the tension and anxiety that have been building since the moment Steve announced his impending fatherhood falls away. All the pressure she felt, all the confusion and angst. She knows now, she knows what she wants, knows that she wants it.

Steve wishes he could preserve the look on her face forever; she's completely open and she's beautiful.

"Steve," she says in a happy whisper, "I want Holly."

He looks up at her, and in the smile on his face she can see echoes of the man his son will grow into one day.

"Well, then, there you go." If he tells her that this isn't a surprise to anyone at all she'll just clam up. He learned long ago that it was best to let Gail think that she was a mystery to everyone. It made things so much easier.

She kicks her foot against his hand. "So," she starts, a hint of her childhood shyness in her voice, "I have a ring."

Now, this _is_ news to him.

"Yeah," he says, "princess cut?"

This time she kicks harder. "It's our grandmother's. You know Holly, she wouldn't want some dumb ring from a store. And mom gave me the ring years ago after the funeral, she said gran wanted me to have it. And I thought you were going to propose to Traci when she got pregnant, so I figured that once that happened Holly would want to get married too and so I should have a ring. I don't know, it was stupid. Anyway, you never proposed to Traci and I started to think about what I'd do if Holly said no, so it's been sitting in my locker at the 15 for months now."

So that's where it all started, this unease he'd sensed growing in his sister.

"Okay, first off, Gail, you're an idiot. Holly isn't some dumb girl who will want a ring because her friend got one. You wouldn't love her if she was. And second, I did ask Traci to marry me. And she said no, so there."

Gail gapes at him.

"What? What happened?"

He can talk about it now, but for a week or two it had almost killed him. Even though he'd understood her reasons completely.

"She said she didn't want me to ask just because she was pregnant. I mean, I wasn't, I'd been thinking about it for a while but then when she told me she was pregnant I panicked and asked because I thought that's what you were supposed to do when you got your girlfriend pregnant. I meant it, and she's not free of the Peck legacy by a long shot. But when I ask her this time, I'm going to do it for the right reasons. Not because I'm having flashbacks to some lecture mom gave me back in high school about 'doing the right thing.'"

After all, Gail's not the only one who suffers from a childhood steeped firmly in ideas about "What a Peck Is."

His sister looks at him thoughtfully.

"So," she says slyly, "what you're saying is that I might beat you to the punch."

The serious part of their talk has clearly passed, and he's relieved to see a much calmer version of his sister sitting there, unconsciously rocking his son in her arms. But he's still her older brother, and so he can't let the discussion go without one more thing.

"No, Gail," he says, slowly rising from the floor, "what I'm saying is that when the moment is right? You'll know. And because you're a Peck and we Pecks are awesome—right, Ethan,-" he coos at his son as he lifts the sleeping boy from Gail's arms, "you'll be brave enough to take that step."

He'll end up keeping most of their conversation to himself, but later tonight, when he's in bed watching Traci feed their son, he'll tell her about the adorable little unconscious noise his sister made at the empty space where she'd been cradling Ethan, and how her hand followed the boy's head to his father's arms. She'll understand.

Steve moves to put Ethan down in the bassinet next to the bed and starts toward the door.

"Hey," Traci says, poking her head into the room, "There you guys are. Is he asleep? Perfect timing. Holly just called, she's going to pick up pizza on her way home from the lab. She'll be here by the time you're back from picking Leo up at soccer, Steve."

Steve nods and brushes a kiss over Traci's cheek before they head down the hallway, chattering about one thing or another.

Gail moves to follow, but pauses by the bassinet, letting her eyes linger on this sweet boy's face. She picks up the rabbit and tucks it near Ethan's feet.

When she draws the door closed behind her and heads to wait for her girlfriend and the promised pizza, her heart feels light and free for the first time in months.

Steve's right, they're Pecks.

They're gonna be just fine.


	11. Meet and Greet

It feels right that Steve's the first of their family and friends to meet her daughter. He knocks gently on the door, bearing flowers and a four-year-old monkey named Ethan hanging off his back.

"Hey, ladies," he says, "Up for a visit from the handsomest men you know?"

Gail laughs. "Oh," she says, "is Leo with you too?"

He smirks at her as he raises a hand to steady the bouncing boy on his back

"Get in here, you dork," she says, and squeezes Holly's hand excitedly.

"Dad, dad," her long-limbed, wild-haired nephew whispers loudly, "let me down. I wanna see."

Steve helps his son down and then takes the boy's hand in his own. They cross the room to the bed where Holly is propped up against a pile of pillows, one hand in Gail's and the other just resting on the hospital bassinet at her side.

"Hey, mom," he says, and kisses Holly's cheek before indicating the flowers in his hand, "these are for you."

Gail, predictably, objects. "What about me?"

"You," Steve says pointedly, "didn't do any of the work."

Holly lets out a tired laugh at that. Gail just pouts.

"Oh, fine," Steve says. "E—do you have your present for Aunt Gail?"

The boy nods seriously, and walks over to Gail to wrap her legs up in a strong hug. "Happy mama's day, Aunt Gail," he says, and shyly hands her something soft.

Gail crouches down so they're face to face. "Thank you, E. Now," she says, unwrapping the present from the scrap of blanket it's tucked in, "what is this?"

"It's for the baby," he says.

It's a furry little rabbit, not unlike the one Gail brought to the hospital on the day he was born.

"Oh, Ethan, she's going to love it." She tickles his tummy and kisses his cheek before picking him up in her arms and depositing him on the hospital bed next to her wife. "Hol," she says, "look what E's brought." Holly oohs over the sweet boy and his gift while Steve looks back and forth between his son and the bundle in the bassinet, an excited grin on his face.

"Put the flowers down, Steven," Gail says in an excited tone that many a rookie has learned to be wary of, "there's someone I want to introduce you to."

She leans over the bassinet, still in awe of this tiny person she's helped to bring into the world. Her daughter—_her daughter_—is light as a feather in her arms, and Gail knows that there is nothing she will not do to make sure that the world never weighs her baby girl down.

She gently places the bundle in Steve's experienced arms, teasing a finger over the little crop of dark hair.

"Katherine," she says with a wide smile, "meet your dorky Uncle Steve. He's probably going to be the one who teaches you how to sweet-talk your way out of trouble and the only things that really matter about being a Peck, so you might want to keep him around."

If either of them notice the tears in the other's eyes, they wisely keep it to themselves.

Pecks have each other's backs.


	12. Just Listen

The question seems innocent enough. Your girlfriend's nose slants slightly to the left, and so when you ask her about it during one of your late night Q&A sessions, you expect to hear a story about her childhood antics, or not paying attention during softball practice.

"It was a car accident," she starts, her voice hesitant. "My dad was driving and I was asleep in the back seat. It wasn't a drunk driver or anything, it wasn't anyone's fault at all. It was night and he was driving me back from a friend's house. I know that because my mom told me, but I honestly don't remember."

You realize now what story she's telling you. You know she adored her father, and that he passed away when she was young, but there's been enough tragedy and loss in your lives these past few months. You've both avoided delving into the darker, heavier parts of your pasts.

This woman that you are just starting to realize you could love looks small in the bed next to you. It frightens you, because she has become such a large part of your life. You're ashamed to admit it, but a very small voice in your head wants her to stop the story, wants you to put a stop to this. If you were more noble maybe you could write it off as wanting to spare her the pain of telling it, but you're not. You want to spare yourself.

Still, instead of doing that, instead of pulling up your drawbridge and hiding behind your walls, you remember just how good this woman has been to you, how she's held you while you cried, how she's letting you slowly learn how to love her. Maybe if you made resolutions this year's would read "be better," because that's what you're trying to do. And not just because she deserves it, but because you do too.

So you pull her close to you, wrap your arms around her body to hold her tight, and you listen while she tells you the sad story of how she lost the most important man in her life. And when that story is over, and after you've kissed away her tears, you ask her to tell you more. And you listen while she tells you all the stories about how the most important man in her life lived.

It is, you think, the least you can do.


	13. Good Day for a Baby Shower

It's a hot sunny day in the park and Steve is enjoying himself immensely. He's got a beer in one hand, a burger in the other, and he's talking sports with some of Gail's fellow-scratch that-former rookies. He's got one eye trained on Leo and Ethan, his two rowdy boys, and every now and again sneaks a glance at his wife. They've been married for a couple of months now, and Steve is convinced that that word will never lose the sweetness of the day he asked her to take him as her husband. The second time, the time she said yes.

Right now Traci is talking animatedly with Gail and Gail's very pregnant wife, Holly. From the grossed out look on Gail's face, they're talking about something childbirth-related. Steve laughs to himself. Poor Gail. He would give anything to see how she reacts to the very messy, very human process of childbirth. He'll give her a pep talk about the whole thing soon, but he knows intimately that there are no pep talks, no EMT training, no birth classes, nothing that can really prepare you for the process of welcoming a child into the world, of welcoming your very own child into the world.

It's something he's been thinking about more and more lately as he's watched his sister prepare for her impending motherhood. And from the looks Traci's been giving him lately, she's been thinking about it as well.

It might be time to start talking about adding to their rambunctious brood.

He muses the idea over in his head while he finishes off his burger.

From the play equipment he hears a loud howl and then the familiar sound of his younger son crying. He jogs over to find Ethan on the ground with tears in his eyes, and Leo crouched over his younger brother, eyes looking worriedly up at his stepfather.

"We were just playing on the monkey bars, Steve, and E fell. I'm sorry." The older boy trails off, looking very close to tears himself. He's a good boy-a good young man, he thinks to himself, remembering the early summer growth spurt-and Steve is proud everyday of being able to call Leo his too.

"I'm sure it's okay, Leo," Steve says, "accidents happen." He kneels down next to his crying son. Everything looks okay, Ethan's shoe is untied and his knee is a little bloody, but there doesn't seem to be any broken bones or major injuries.

Traci's at his side now, and he exchanges a look with her. "Leo, let's let Steve help Ethan and go get some cake, okay?"

"Go on, buddy," he says to the boy, giving his shoulder a pat. "You and mom get some cake ready, and E and I will be there in a second."

Leo gives an enthusiastic grin and Steve knows that whatever worry was in Leo's eyes has been forgotten by the boy. He's tried hard to make sure that Leo knows he loves him as much as he loves Ethan, that he doesn't think of them differently, that when he calls the boy his son the words are proud and sincerely meant.

"Okay, E-man," he says to his crying son, "where does it hurt?"

A few kisses and tickles later, plus a bandage expertly applied by Aunt Holly, and his boy is mostly happy again. Still sniffling just a bit, sure, and seemingly content to spend the rest of the afternoon in his father's arms while the adults talk and the other kids play. But happy.

Steve drums his fingers on the picnic table, happy to sit in the sun and watch everyone while Ethan curls his fingers in the fabric of his shirt. He doesn't notice his mom coming up behind him until the thin woman's body casts an imposing shadow over the grass.

"Mom, nice day for a baby shower, isn't it?"

He's pretty sure she's not here to make small talk, and he's got a pretty good idea of what she wants to talk to him about. But they've had this conversation before-too many times before-and on this sunny, happy day he comes to the sudden realization that unless he puts a stop to this right now, today, it won't ever end. He's not just thinking of himself and his family, but his sister and the one she's starting.

"Hey, Ethan, can you go play with your brother for a bit, bud? I have to talk with grandma for a few minutes."

His son nods shyly and gives him a tight hug before hopping off his lap and running off.

True to form, Elaine doesn't wait long before starting.

"I saw what happened at the playground. Ethan's a bit old, don't you think, to be making such a fuss over a little fall?"

Steve sighs, willing himself to be patient and calm.

"He's four years old, mom. He fell down and got a bloody knee. He's a little boy and he's allowed to cry because he hurt himself."

"My point, Steven," Elaine's voice takes on that authoritative tone that always makes Gail's hackles raise, "is that a Peck doesn't cry over little things like a fall, and Ethan is certainly too old to be coddled and clinging to you. Why, when you and your sister were that age, your father and I certainly did not tolerate..."

Steve loses track of what his mother is saying as an old memory comes to him. A tiny giggling Gail, probably no older than Ethan is now, and a swing set in the neighbor's yard. Gail had fallen off the swing and crumpled to the ground with a sharp squeal of pain. She'd cried for hours, Elaine berating her the whole time with a diatribe very similar to the one she was giving now. About being too old for such nonsense, and about Pecks being strong and not giving into weakness. Eventually his sister's tears had tapered off sometime after she was sent to her room. It wasn't until later in the evening that they'd realized her arm was actually broken. He wonders if Gail remembers that. He wonders if their mother does.

A few years later Gail broke her arm again, falling out of a tree on a scavenger hike their parents made them go on. This time she hadn't made a sound, much less shed a tear. She'd clutched the arm close to her chest, and went even paler than normal whenever it brushed against something, but despite his protests they'd finished the hike and returned to their parents at the cabin before she'd let anyone take a look at it.

The break was so bad she'd needed surgery to set the bone.

In the hospital later, Steve remembers their mother telling Gail she was proud of how the young girl had conducted herself, how she was a true Peck.

He remembers the shy sweet girl Gail was, and the hard and brittle girl woman she'd been until Holly had entered her life. He wonders how many breaks and cracks she never told anyone about, not just bones but the ones of heart and mind and soul.

Not for the first time he thinks about how much his young son reminds him of the Gail-that-was, the quiet girl with wide eyes who liked to sit and watch everything going on around her.

This has to come to an end, Steve decides, seeing his sister and his son share a swing, the cycle ends now.

"Mom, stop," he says forcefully. "Just, just stop. You can't do this again, I won't let you keep doing this."

Elaine looks startled, but recovers quickly enough.

"What are you talking about, Steven, stop what? I'm just trying to help you turn your son into a -"

"This, he says, cutting her off, "stop this. I'm not going to turn my son into anything. Do you know what a Peck is, mom? A Peck is someone who loves their family, someone who stands up for what is right, someone who isn't afraid of what anyone else thinks of them or their family as long as they know they're being true to themselves. A Peck is happy and a Peck is loved. That's what matters about being a Peck. You spent years breaking us down, breaking Gail down, to be the people you thought we should be. It didn't matter to you who we were or what we wanted. That stops now."

He squares his shoulders and rises, voice still quiet but steady and strong.

"My son is four years old and there is nothing about him I would change. I love him, and I'm proud of him. Just because he is. That's it. Now, you either accept that and drop this nonsense, or you stay away from me and mine. And that includes Gail and Holly and their kid, too. Because you will not do to our kids what you did to yours."

For once in her life, Elaine seems to have nothing to say.

Steve feels light. A weight he didn't even know he was carrying has been lifted off his shoulders. He heads over to where his boys are, where his wife and sister are. They're all watching Chris and one of Holly's brothers arm wrestle. The sun is still shining and everyone he loves is in his line of sight. It's a good day for a baby shower.

"Hey," Gail says, nudging his shoulder, "is mom bothering you? I can have my bouncers escort her out. I didn't even want to invite her but Holly made me."

He snorts. He loves his little sister. He wouldn't change her for the world.


	14. Runner Runner

"So that's my mom there and her husband Dan. He has a son and daughter from his first marriage. Kyle is 28 and works for the city planner's office and Leah is 23 and in her first year of grad school-fine arts, she's a poet. And then there's our two half-brothers Jonah and David, who are identical twins, twelve, and probably going to spend the afternoon trying to trick you about who's who. But if you want to know the secret, it's that-"

"No," Gail said quickly, cutting you off. "I want to see if I can do it myself. I'm a police officer, Holly, being observant is kinda my job."

You smirk and give her a light tap on the ass. "Well, Officer Peck, let's go get you introduced."

This is the first time Gail is meeting your family and you're a little nervous. Not as much as Gail is, though her bravado is impressive, but still just enough to raise your heart-rate.

You're not afraid that your family won't like Gail, or that Gail won't like your family. But there's just a lot of them, and sometimes Gail gets skittish when there's too many people. And when that happens, well, she's still a bit of a runner, your Gail.

She's working on it, trusting and staying. You're working on giving her reasons to trust and to stay. The therapist she's been seeing has been a godsend, and you know from the sessions you've been invited to that it's because the woman is as bull-headed, snarky, and take-no-shit as your girlfriend. Gail may claim to hate her, but you know for a fact she respects her.

You'd seen as much in Gail's eyes at the session you attended earlier this week, in fact. You'd gone along at her request, and you and she and the therapist had talked about your girlfriend's anxiety at meeting your family. That Gail had been scared wasn't news to you. That Gail was afraid she'd screw up so badly you'd leave her had been.

Like you said, you're working on the trust thing.

Every so often something like this happens. Gail lets her head rush ahead and, with years of failed expectations weighing her down, convinces herself that she's not good enough, that she won't succeed, that she's not worthy.

And that's when she starts running.

But you know this, and you know her. And you are learning how to hold onto her and keep her safe until she comes out of the darkness.

So the doc had talked you and Gail through the fear, and some strategies for how to manage it, individually and as a unit. You'd flat out told Gail that you weren't afraid that she'd make a bad impression, that you'd be right by her side the whole time if she needed it, and that no matter what happened, you wouldn't leave her.

"And if we get there and it's too much," you said, "we can leave. I don't expect anything from you here, Gail. I want you to meet my family, but if it's too soon or it's freaking you out too much, then we won't go. We'll do something else instead and I'll introduce them to you another time, when you're ready."

You'd left the decision to her. You called your mom to let her know that there was a possibility that you wouldn't be able to make it and, god bless your mother, she'd understood. You've told your mother some things about your girlfriend in your conversations over the past few months. Your social-worker mother has had enough experience interacting with people of all shapes and kinds, and is extremely good at not spooking them or coming across too strong.

But this morning when you woke up to the scent of coffee from the kitchen, Gail was already digging for something to wear in the closet you'd cleaned out for her.

And now, here you stand. With your girlfriend at your side as your mother notices you've arrived and makes her way over, wrapping you in a tight hug.

"Mom and Dan," you say, "this is Gail. Gail, my mom and my step-father Dan."

Your mother gives Gail a gentle smile and gently takes your girlfriend's hand in her own.

"Gail, it's so nice to meet you. We're happy you could join us today," she says genuinely and gives Gail's hand a friendly squeeze. "Kyle's picking up Leah and she's running on 'poet-time' as usual, so they'll be late. And Holly's sister couldn't join us, but you'll be meeting everyone else once they arrive."

Your girlfriend thanks her for the invite, and Dan holds out his hand.

"The more the merrier," he says as they shake.

"Holly! Holly!"

Twin dynamos run out of the house to jump up at you. They're bigger than you remember from the last time you were home.

You ruffle Jonah's hair and tug at David's ear before saying your hellos.

"Now, Rumble and Tumble," you say, "behave and introduce yourselves to my girlfriend Gail."

The boys stick out their hands and introduce themselves to your girlfriend. You school your face to reveal nothing as Gail looks down on your brothers suspiciously.

After a moment or two of intense scrutiny, she laughs.

"You're lying, you switched names."

As you watch your brothers hassle Gail to make her tell them how she knew, you're pretty sure no one's going to be doing any running today.


	15. Ask and Answer Part 1

It's Oliver who comes for you. One minute you're putting the finishing touches on an autopsy report, looking forward to the date Gail is taking you on tonight. The next, Oliver is standing in the doorway of your lab, gentle Oliver, and you're trying to remember how to breathe.

"She's okay," he says immediately, and because it's Oliver, you believe him. Gail's right, he does have this dad-quality about him and it makes you want to be wrapped up in his arms and bury your head in his shirt, and when he speaks to you he speaks with that paternal tone. You know he's looking out for you, you know he's got your back.

You're glad it's him, though, and not any of the others. You knew this day would come, you knew that one day one of Gail's colleagues would be at your door with their hat in their hands. You've been waiting. You've been waiting ever since you heard the rumor that someone was targeting cops, targeting the 15. You've been waiting since you kissed the taste of champagne off her lips in the coatroom at a wedding. You've been waiting ever since you climbed down into a ravine and this hot blonde cop called you "Lunchbox" and your life changed forever.

"Hey, hey, darlin'," he says, quickly crossing the room and you realize suddenly that at some point you started crying, and that some of your internal monologue was out loud. "Shhh," he says, pulling you into that hug, "I mean it, she's okay. There was an incident, Gail hit her head and we were concerned she might have a concussion so we called for a bus to take her to the hospital. She's there now getting that hard skull of hers checked out. She asked me to come get you, or I'd still be there with her."

Later, once you've settled down a bit and are in a squad on your way to Gail, you find out he's not exactly telling you the whole truth. But right now it's exactly what you need to hear.

He bundles you up and out the door toward the parking lot, and once you're on the road you make him tell you what really happened.

Oliver tells how he and Gail were pursuing a suspect through an area of abandoned warehouses, and how Gail was chasing him down a fire escape. How she caught up to him, how he shoved her and the railing broke. How Gail fell and slammed her head on the broken concrete below.

Your stomach churns, but you make him finish.

The suspect kept running, but at the top of the stairs Chris and Dov apprehended him while Oliver checked on Gail, who was already starting to get off the ground. At first, he says, Gail seemed shaken up and sore, but otherwise fine. It wasn't until they realized her words seemed slurred and that she was having difficulty balancing that they realized she'd hit her head harder than she thought.

"We radioed for a bus," Oliver continues as he pulls into the hospital parking lot, "and by the time it arrived she'd thrown up twice. We had convinced her to lay down with her head in Chris's lap, figuring it was best to keep her as still as possible. The whole time we were waiting for the bus she was talking about you. She asked for you as they were loading her into the ambulance, so I came for you as soon as I could."

You can't help it, you went to med school. So the whole time Oliver's talking you're thinking of possible diagnoses. She's definitely got a concussion. Probably a Grade II one from the sounds of it. At least. As far as Oliver knows there wasn't any loss of consciousness, and he didn't hear the paramedics say anything about her pupils. So it's serious, but it definitely could have been worse.

You're directed to a room on the third floor by the admissions desk; Gail's been admitted for the night already.

Your find your girlfriend in a hospital gown humming to herself, eyes closed against the bright fluorescent lights of the room. You pause for a moment just to look at her. She's beautiful, even here, even now.

You must make some sound because Gail's eyes open and she turns her head slightly to see.

"Holly," she says. Just your name, but hearing it eases some of the worry in your chest and you walk over to the bed to kiss her lips delicately.

"Hey, baby," you whisper, not caring if Oliver overhears or not.

She rests her head against your chest, right over your heart, and you wonder if she can hear how it beats with love for her.

A few hours later and most of Gail's family and friends have dropped by. Dov and Chloe brought flowers, and Gail scowled. Chris brought changes of clothes for you both, and Gail warned him against ever going through her underwear drawer again. Oliver brought food and coffee for you and a doughnut for Gail and earned himself a smirk. But it was Steve and Traci, bearing Leo and a newly crawling Ethan, who earned a real, sincere smile. Just before the close of visiting hours, Pecks themselves made a quick visit, dropping off a few gift-shop carnations and a card encouraging their daughter to get back on her feet and back to work as soon as possible.

But now it's getting dark out and except for the hustle and bustle of hospital business out in the hall, you're alone. You've changed into the yoga pants and sweatshirt that Chris brought before climbing into the hospital bed with Gail. She leans against you again, her eyes drooping.

"Hey," you say softly, "any minute now the nurse will be in here again to check on you." Every hour one of the nurses has come in to monitor Gail's condition. They ask her a few questions-things like her name and the date, who Holly is, remember and repeat three words-and then have her do some basic motor operations-hold her arms out straight and level, touch her nose, things like that. So far Gail's performed well, but she's getting tired and cranky and you can tell that the pain medication they gave her is wearing off.

Just as you predicted, a nurse enters the room to test Gail again, and you smile sympathetically at the poor woman as Gail vents some of her frustration.

"Hey," you say as the nurse tries to escape, "I think her Tylenol is wearing off, is there any chance she can get some more soon?"

The nurse-Sarah, you think her name is-says she'll check with Gail's doctor and get back to you. It's almost time for Gail's next check by the time she finally does.

But Gail takes the pills without comment, and then snuggles into you. You kiss the top of her head before closing your eyes and settling in for a long night of interrupted sleep.


	16. Ask and Answer Part 2

You wake to a sound you can't place immediately, and it takes you a moment to remember what happened and where you are. According to your phone Gail's next check is in twenty minutes. The sound, you realize, is coming from Gail. She's awake and she's trying not to cry.

"Gail, sweetheart, what's wrong?"

At first you assume it's a nightmare; Gail gets them sometimes, especially during periods of stress. And today has been stressful. But when she speaks, her voice hoarse, your pulse speeds up.

"It hurts," she says, "my head. Holly, it hurts."

She sounds scared, and so, so young.

You press the call button and send up silent prayers that it's just her Tylenol wearing off again.

But there's a heavy feeling in your bones that says it's not.

The nurse comes in and runs Gail through the now familiar questions once you explain your concern. From hours of watching you can see the difference-her reaction time is slower, she can't give the name of which hospital she's at, and she can only remember one of the three words the nurse gave her. She forgets Elephant and Pencil.

The nurse exchanges a look with you, and tells you both that she's going to give the doctor a call. You know to be worried when he walks through the door five minutes later. If it wasn't a big deal, he would have taken his time.

They take your girlfriend off for an emergency CT-suddenly you're all alone in the chilly hospital room. You call Steve.

When you see the doctor next, Steve's sitting by your side and holding your hand. You told him he didn't have to come. He came anyway.

According to the doctor, Gail's developed an acute subdural hematoma. But you're a doctor too, you already knew that. They want to take her to surgery and relieve the pressure on her brain. You know what this means too, the bleed in her brain is big enough to warrant immediate and invasive treatment. Half-remembered statistics and outcomes are whirling around in your own brain. Steve taps you on the knee to bring you back into the conversation.

"I'm sorry, can you repeat that," you ask.

The doctor looks down at you, his face kind and understanding. "We need her next-of-kin or her medical proxy to sign off on the procedure," he says. "According to her chart, that's you."

You're a little surprised. You figured she had her parents, or even Steve, listed. Steve doesn't look surprised, though; instead, he pats your arm encouragingly.

After you sign the papers, you ask if you can sit with Gail while they prep for the surgery. You find your beautiful girl curled up in a fetal position on the gurney.

"Hey, beautiful," you say to her, and she opens her eyes to look at you. Even though the doctor had prepared you, even though you've seen them many times already in a medical capacity, seeing one of your girlfriend's sky-blue irises turned black with a blown pupil is upsetting.

"Hey," she says back softly as you let her grasp your hands tightly. Her brow is furrowed in pain. "Can we go home yet?"

Your heart breaks a bit. The doctor told you this, too; that they had to have you sign the papers for the surgery because after explaining the procedure twice to Gail it was apparent that she was in no shape to give consent to anything.

"Gail," you say, and pause to swallow the lump in your throat, "honey, we can't go right now. They need to do surgery first. Your head is hurting but they're going to make it better, okay?"

"Okay," she says quietly.

An orderly comes in a few minutes later to shave away a patch of Gail's beautiful silky hair. The doctor told you they weren't going to do a craniotomy, but thought they could resolve the pressure on Gail's brain by drilling a hold in her skull.

It takes a few minutes for you to get Gail to allow him near her head with the razor after he introduces himself, but eventually Tom is able to do what he needs to do.

You have a few minutes before they come to take Gail away, and you spend it peppering her face and hands with kisses, and telling her you love her, that you'll be waiting for her. And then right before they come to wheel her away she says something that devastates you.

"You should marry me, Hols," she says, her voice fading off at the end.

Then there's a knock at the door and suddenly you don't have time to say anything but "I love you."

And then your hands are empty and cold without hers to hold onto. A kind woman leads you back to the surgical waiting room where you find Steve and the Mr. and Mrs. Peck. Everything is surreal. You sit down next to Gail's big brother and he slips his warm arm around your shoulders. You don't tell him what Gail said; instead, you let the tears you've been holding back for the past few hours finally come.

The next thing you know, your head is in Steve's lap and he's gently shaking your shoulder. Your eyes feel heavy and your face feels dirty. And there's a wet spot on Steve's pant leg that is either drool or tears.

"Hol, the doctor is here."

He tells you that the surgery's gone well, Gail's come through with flying colors, and one member of her family can follow him and sit with Gail in the recovery room. Elaine steps forward to volunteer, but Steve speaks up first.

"Holly'll go," he says, "she's Gail's girlfriend and official 'in case of emergency' person. It should be her."

For a moment Elaine looks like she's going to argue, but a hand on her shoulder from Gail's father keeps her quiet.


	17. Ask and Answer Part 3

The recovery room is quiet, but busy. Gail's unconscious in a bed, a large bandage wrapped around her skull. Her skin is pale, but her pulse is strong. You take your girlfriend's hand in your own, and whisper sweet thoughts into Gail's ear, soothed by the steady sound of the heart monitor behind the bed.

It takes awhile, but slowly Gail's eyes open, beautiful and bright and blue.

"Morning, sweetheart," you say to her, even though you're not sure it's morning anymore. "Welcome back."

You slide your palm up to cup her cheek as her eyes flutter closed again.

The process repeats a few more times before Gail is really, truly awake. Her breathing tube is removed and you help her take some small sips of water to ease the burning in her throat.

She doesn't remember much of the past twenty-four hours, so you fill her in. You leave out her last words before the surgery.

Soon you're both back in Gail's hospital room. Steve and their parents had been in to fuss over her, but left after only a short while in deference to Gail's exhausted state.

The nurses tell you that if you're careful of Gail's IV and monitors, and don't get up to any funny business, you can climb into your girlfriend's bed and hold her while she sleeps.

Eventually you drift off too. You don't even wake when one of the nurses covers you with a blanket on one of their rounds.

You wake with the sun to find Gail watching you with a soft look in her eyes.

"I was dreaming about you," she says softly, a rasp still in her voice.

"Hmmm," you say, just content to look at her.

"You were crying and I thought I messed something up again," she continues.

"Shhh," you say, interrupting her. "Nothing's ruined. You're alive and you're here. That's all that matters. Besides," you tease, "you can just owe me that dinner."

"Our date," Gail says, an odd look on her face, "I ruined our date."

"No, you didn't ruin anything. We'll just go some other time, I was only teasing."

Gail is quiet for a moment, and then looks into your eyes with a sheepish look on her face.

"I think I did something," she says, "but I'm not sure if I dreamt it or not."

Here it is, the moment you've been hoping to avoid. You don't want her to feel pressured by something she said while not in control of herself. It wouldn't be fair.

"Gail," you say, "it doesn't matter. You weren't yourself, everything you said yesterday I'm prepared to take with a grain of salt. Up to and including the moment you said that sometimes Dov reminds you of the puppet from Pinocchio. I won't repeat anything."

Hopefully that will set her at ease.

"So, Lunchbox, it clearly wasn't a dream then."

You smile at your nickname.

"No, you definitely called Dov a puppet."

Careful not to tangle her IVs, she brings hand up to your face.

"Not that, Hol. The part when I told you you should marry me. Which clearly freaked you out a bit since you're pretending it didn't happen."

She's smirking at you now, and even though you're not sure where this is going you're just so happy that she's okay.

"I'm not pretending, I just understand that you weren't entirely in your head and I don't want you to feel like it has to mean anything if it wasn't."

And you don't. Even if your heart stopped when she said the words. Even if you were filled with joy at the thought, even as you were filled with fear at what was happening. You won't push Gail into anything she's not ready for. It's why you haven't asked her to marry you yet yourself. Sure, there's a ring-your dad's wedding ring-in your jewelry box, just waiting to be re-sized to fit Gail's small fingers. Sure you've thought about it, dreamt about it, nearly done it a hundred times yourself. But you haven't because if Gail's not ready then it's not the right time.

And you haven't been sure that Gail's ready yet.

She's still got that odd look on her face, and you're hoping that this doesn't screw things up between the two of you. You've just gotten back on track after a few months of Gail carrying around some sort of tension that she wouldn't talk about.

"So," she says, drawing you out of your musing, "we were going to go to Gil's again, and I was going to order the pesto pizza."

"Okay, we can still do that some other time," you say, wondering if you should be worried that she's bleeding into her brain again.

"And then we were going to go home and change into pajamas and sit on the couch." She inhales deeply before pulling your head closer to drop a kiss on your lips and whisper in your ear, "And then, Holly Elizabeth Stewart, I was going to ask you to be my wife."

Time holds exquisitely still and then rushes forward again. You swear you can hear the ocean in your ears, you swear you can see every piece of this glorious woman before you, inside and out. You swear that there could never be a person on Earth you love more than her.

"Well, Hol," she asks impatiently.

Oh, your beautiful girl. She is a wonder to you.

"Hold on," you say back with a smile, "I'm thinking about it."

"I can take it back," she threatens.

"Take back what, you haven't asked anything."

The past two days have been tumultuous, and your chest hurts with the ache of waiting and worrying. But the sparkle in her eyes makes all that heaviness feel so light.

She laughs, open and honest and gorgeously alive.

"Holly Elizabeth Stewart, my dear Lunchbox, my weird, hot, rambly, not-at-all-funny girlfriend. Will you marry me? Can we spend our lives together?"

You place your hand on her chest, you feel her heartbeat under your palm. It's steady and strong.

"Yes, always."

Later that night Steve and Traci stop by again, bringing food and another change of clothes for you, and your iPad for Gail. She's already bored, and you just know the next weeks and months of her recovery are going to be impossible for her.

Before they leave Traci hands Gail a small box.

"You know," she says to your fiance, "you Pecks are going down in the books as being legendarily bad at the proposal thing. Steve's 'so, I guess we should get married' was bad enough, but I think your hospital bed proposal is even worse."

Gail laughs.

"Technically," you point out, "it was a 'right before you got whisked off into surgery' proposal. I think that's even worse."

"Yeah, well," Gail says while she's sliding a beautiful old ring onto your hand, "you're the one who said yes."


	18. Chatter

"Ollie," Gail said, "how'd you propose to your ex-wife?"

He looks at her sideways.

"I think I used the words 'Zoe, will you marry me,' Peck, why?"

Gail avoids looking at him, and fixes her eyes on some kids in the distance.

"No reason, just making small talk. Do I need a reason to chit chat?"

He tilts his head, "Come to think of it, yes, Peck, you have always needed a reason to chit chat before."

He chuckles when she snarls back.

It hits him a moment later.

"Ohhh," he exclaims excitedly, "Holly, you're thinking of proposing to Holly!"


	19. Nurse Gail

In a selfish way that you're not entirely proud of, when Holly comes down with a vicious cold one week, you're almost glad. Most of the time you feel like she's the one always taking care of you. She picks you up, she holds you, she sets you back on your path when you've lost your way. Personally, professionally, romantically, she's always looking out for you.

You feel like you need her so much, all the time, and you wonder if she ever feels like she needs you for anything at all.

So when she calls you, sniffly and apologetic, to cancel your plans of ordering Thai (her choice) and having a Police Academy marathon (yours), you jump at the opportunity to do something for her. Even though she tries to brush off your offer when you ask if there's anything to do, you don't let her. Instead, you tell her to expect you as soon as your shift is over, and to prepare for some awesome doctoring 'cause Nurse Gail is on the way.

Her laughter quickly dissolves into a wracking cough and you worry your bottom lip between your teeth, wondering if you're up for the task of nursing her back to health.

Because here's a secret that everybody knows: Gail Peck isn't the sweet and nurturing girlfriend-type.

That's been made abundantly clear to you over the years by your various significant others. You don't even remember if it's really true, or if you just started to believe it after hearing it from one too many boyfriends and one-night stands over the years. At this point does it even matter?

Chris came down with the flu once while you were sleeping together, and you wore yellow rubber gloves and held your breath anytime he came within five feet of you for a whole week. You sure as hell didn't bring him Kleenex and keep track of when his last dose of Nyquil was. And that time when Dov got food poisoning? You definitely had fun eating all sorts of delicious things in front of him and watching him turn green.

And, of course, whenever you're sick you expect someone to take care of you.

But the truth is, you don't have any idea of how to take care of someone else.

Thankfully, you think as you see Traci enter the locker room, you know someone who does.

An hour and a half later, you're struggling up the stairs to Holly's apartment, trying to reach the key in your pocket without dropping any of the things in your arm.

Traci had been a godsend, as usual, and you definitely owe her a drink the next time you're all out at the Penny. She'd given you a crash course in doctoring a cold, and you'd spent the time between the station and here getting all the supplies she'd recommended.

On your back was your duffle bag crammed with a few changes of clothes for you, and extra blankets because Traci had told you how Leo always liked to cuddle up on the couch under a pile of blankets when he was sick. And you know Holly has blankets, of course she has blankets, but you weren't sure if she had enough, so you packed all the clean ones you could find around your apartment.

Then you'd dug around in your collection of DVDs, looking for anything light and funny and easy to watch. Traci had offered to loan you Leo's Disney collection-it's a testament to how out of your element you are right now that you didn't realize she was joking until she saw the look on your face and started laughing.

Maybe you won't buy her that drink after all.

After your apartment you stopped at the drug store to stock up on tissues, cold medicine, Gatorade and juice, and to buy a thermometer-just in case. You will never ever admit, to anyone, that you actually asked the pharmacist for help in picking one out, much less how to use it.

Ever.

Your last stop is this little neighborhood soup cafe that's on the way to Holly's apartment. You buy a couple of quarts of this spicy ginger chicken soup that the guy behind the counter swears will cure anything that ails you.

Now, just inside the threshold of the apartment, you take a moment to pump yourself up.

You can do this.

You're a Peck.

You put everything on her kitchen island and pad down the hallway toward the bedroom in your stocking-feet.

The curtains are drawn and all the lights are off, but with the light from the hall you can see her, sprawled out in bed, buried deep under the covers, dead to the world.

You gently slide into the bed with her, and brush long locks of dark hair out of her eyes. Her skin is warm to the touch, and you can see that her face is flushed. You'll drag out the new thermometer from the pocket of your yoga pants later, but right now you just want to spend a moment looking at her.

Her eyes flutter open, and she gives you a slow smile.

"Hey," she says, her voice drowsy with sleep and gravely from her cold.

"Hey," you say back, "How you feeling?"

Her eyes drift shut. "Pretty crappy," she answers, "but better now that you're here."

Your heart skips a beat; she's glorious, your gentle Holly.

You know you should take her temperature and wake her to ask if she's taken any medication-Traci told you as much-but for the moment you're content to lay next to her in bed, watching her sleep as you comb your fingers through her hair.

The rest'll keep for now.

Later in the evening, when she gets up to go to the bathroom, you're awakened from your half-asleep state by her laughter. Hoarser than usual, but still beautiful. When she comes back to bed she makes you explain why you bought out a drug and blanket store and set up shop in her kitchen.

And when you tell her how nervous you were about taking care of her, her eyes soften and she pulls you back down with her onto the bed. She fits your back to her front, wraps her arms around you, and whispers sweet thanks into your hair.

That's when you finally figure it out.

Holly hasn't been taking care of you anymore than you've been taking care of her.

You've been taking care of each other.

And you are damned good at it.

The weekend passes as weekends do, and by Monday morning Holly is feeling almost human again, though she calls in sick for one last day just to make sure. You spend Monday thinking about the deep kiss she gave you at the door as you left for work, a thank you, she said, to Nurse Gail.

And the next weekend?

She spends that thanking you all over again.

Profusely.


	20. The Forever After

Steve gets shot right after Ethan's second birthday. You don't think you'll ever forget getting the call from Gail and hearing her normally steady voice waver as she tells you her brother's been taken to the hospital and asks if you can pick Leo up from school and meet them in the waiting room.

You can tell Leo is worried as he climbs into your backseat and buckles himself in. He's trying so hard to be brave. You tell him what Gail told you, that Steve got shot, that the bullet hit him in the hip and didn't do any major damage, and that Gail said he was already cracking jokes about it on the way to the ER. You hope it helps ease the burn in your nephew's chest.

It hasn't yet eased the one in yours.

When you guys get to the waiting room he runs and throws himself into Traci's waiting arms. Gail's there in her uniform, the corner of her eyes creased with worry but smiling and bouncing Steve's son Ethan on her legs. When she sees you she boosts the boy onto her hip and wraps you in a hug.

"I'm so glad you're here," she says, and for a moment you're transported back to another waiting room, another time, another officer shot and Gail's eyes red with salty tears then too.

"I wouldn't be anywhere else," you tell her.

And you mean it.

You've only been married for a couple of months, but already you know that you'll never not be by her side.

She's your forever.

Once Steve's settled into his room for the night, bandaged and drugged, and Traci has taken Leo up to see him, you and Gail take the two boys to your home to feed them and calm them down. Ethan is a little more cuddly than usual, like he's picked up on the general mood, but after seeing Steve Leo is downright surly.

After pizza Ethan is in definite need of a bath, and Gail suggests you take the toddler upstairs to get ready for bedtime while she and Leo kick some butt on Super Smash Bros. You're carrying a freshly washed and sweetly sleepy Ethan down the stairs when you hear quiet voices coming from the living room instead of the usual jeering and teasing between your wife and Traci's son.

You pause for a moment on the bottom step and listen as she gently talks Leo through his fear and anger at Steve, the stepfather he adores, being shot. The fear that one day it might be his mother, or any of his honorary aunts or uncles. That one day it could be worse, that somebody could die.

You forget sometimes that Gail isn't just a cop herself, but a daughter of cops. You wonder how many times she was afraid of phone calls in the night, how many times she saw her parents bear the physical evidence of how dangerous and deadly their jobs were. You wonder how many waiting rooms she's sat in.

You wonder how many you'll sit in.

Slowly Leo's quiet weeping quiets down, and you make your way into the living room as if you hadn't heard a thing. Gail knows, of course she knows, but you'll let Leo have his pride.

The four of you sit together on the couch and watch some Disney movie left at your place the last time you babysat for Traci and Steve. Ethan snuggles into your lap, and Leo leans into Gail, letting her wrap an arm around his shoulders.

Later that night, long after you've put Ethan and Leo to bed in the spare room, and Gail to bed in your own, you sit on the couch in the dark room, sipping a glass of wine and letting your pulse finally settle down for the first time since you answered your phone earlier that afternoon.

It feels like days ago.

Sometime later, you hear a knock at the door. Cautiously, you peer through the curtain.

It's Traci.

"I'm sorry," she says once you've closed the door behind her, "I know it's late, but Steve told me to go home and get some sleep, and I just can't go home, and I just-"

There's more, but it gets lost her anguished cries. She'd been so strong at the hospital, strong for Steve, strong for the boys, strong for Steve and Gail's colleagues. You were impressed, you'd admired her steely resolve.

But now you realize just how tenuous her control had been. How this storm of fear and grief and anger, so similar to Leo's, had been just hovering under the surface.

You forget, too, how in addition to being a cop Traci is a mother and a partner, and how fragile the hold of mortality must feel to her today.

She clings to you while she cries, and you hold her close, whispering platitudes.

"I'm sorry," she says again once she's her tears have stopped. "I just, I really just need to see my boys."

You nod wordlessly, and help her out of her jacket. She leans on you up the stairs to the room where her sons are sharing the big guest bed. You watch from the doorway how she smooths a hand over their foreheads, and gives them each a gentle kiss before nodding to you and climbing into the bed herself.

You shut the door quietly and head down the hall to the room you share with Gail.

Even though at this point it's earlier than it is late, you still can't fall asleep. Instead, moments from the day run through your head, a movie reel you can't stop.

Leo's wide eyes in the principal's office.

Gail rocking a napping Ethan in the waiting room.

Steve in his hospital bed, thanking you for taking care of his boys tonight.

Traci kissing Ethan goodbye earlier.

You've sometimes wondered how these men and women can be so brave, so strong every day. How they can go out every day and know that they might not make it back.

Maybe today you've figured it out. Maybe it's not the things that wait out there that keep people like your Gail going out day after day. Maybe it's the things that wait for them to return home, whole, night after night. Maybe it's the sons and daughters, the husbands and wives.

Maybe it's knowing that even if something happens, even if the worst happens and one day they don't come home, some part of them still lives on. Some piece of who they are lives on in a child, in a loved one's heart and mind and memory.

Maybe they are who they are and they risk what they risk because in the end, it's not about the day to day.

Maybe it's about the forever after.

You roll over and gather Gail into your arms as the first rays of sun peek over the neighboring buildings and streak into your bedroom.

Maybe you're ready to give her one more thing to come home to.

A piece of the forever after.


	21. Donations

"Steve," you hear someone whispering furiously as you fill out a form in the breakroom.

"Steve!"

"What do you want," you whisper back, amused to find your sister hovering over you.

"I need to talk to you about something," she says in a quiet but normal voice.

"Hold on, Gaily," you says as you sign the form with a flourish. "Now," turning to face her, "what do you want?"

She looks around nervously, biting the corner of her lip in a way that reminds you of your childhood.

"No one else is here right now, Gail, what's up?"

She sits down next to you but can't quite meet your gaze.

"I just, I need to ask you a question and I need you to swear to keep it to yourself."

You roll your eyes, but you nod. Your sister is an oddball; this certainly isn't the weirdest conversation you've had with her.

She clenches her fists and inhales deeply, as if she needs to steady herself before you asks whatever's on her mind.

And then she begins.

"I just want to preface by saying that if you tell anyone about this, including Holly, I will murder you and dismember you and have my wife help me hide all the body parts around the city-"

You can't help but snort at that.

"But Holly's got this idea in her head and she's looking at all these red-haired, pale skinned men. And it's not like I haven't told her that it doesn't matter to me if the kid looks like me, but she's pretty insistent and-"

You've now officially lost track of this conversation, you realize. But your sister isn't even looking at you anymore as she talks. And, anyway, she's now more mumbling than rambling.

"Gail," you say, putting a hand on her shoulder, "chill out. I didn't even hear that last part over your internal freak out."

"I asked, Steven," she looks up at you, her eyes set in a familiar glare, "if you've ever donated sperm?"

You almost sputter out the coffee you just took a swig of. "What? Gail, what kind of question is that?"

"Haven't you been listening," she says in a tone usually reserved for stupid punks she's picked up tagging or committing other lame crimes against public property.

"I thought I was, but then you asked me about sperm and my mind kind of went blank."

Your little sister huffs, she's clearly not entirely comfortable having this conversation.

You're not sure if you are either.

"Every sperm donor on Holly's list is a ginger, Steve. And I just need to know before I sign off on Patient Zero or some other poor loser whether or not it's a chance that that donor is you."

You think you deserve a medal for not laughing.

Gail just narrows her eyes even further at you.

When you've got yourself under control, you figure it's safe to try speaking again.

"I," you start off delicately, "I didn't know that you and Holly were thinking about kids right now." You really didn't. You know it's on their radar, but you didn't think they were moving toward that step quite yet.

"We've been talking about it for a few months. And now we're at the 'let's find a sperm donor' stage. And before I can really get into this stage, I need to know I'm not going to be knocking up my wife with my brother's, you know."

"Semen, Gail, you're a grown woman. You can say the word 'semen.'"

"Look," she says, her face red with embarrassment and frustration, '"will you just answer the question, Steve, so I can get on with my life and pretend that this never happened?"

She scowls when you smirk at her, but you can't help it. You're happy for the two of them. And you remember a time, not so long ago now, when your own foray into fatherhood had you all off-balance. So rather than draw this conversation out any further, you decide to end it.

"No, Gail. I, on my honor, have never donated my sperm. Despite the fact that humanity would clearly be the better for it. So you can rest easy and knock up your lady with no fear of a Captain Awesome baby."

Now she rolls her eyes at you before clapping her hand on your shoulder and giving it a grateful squeeze. Not many people understand your relationship with your sister, but you're okay with that. You understand each other most of the time.

Like now, when Gail rises and stalks off, you know it means she just needs some space to clear her head. To be honest, so do you.

Later, when you cross paths with Traci in the halls, she asks what put that silly grin on your face.

"Oh, nothing," you say as you give her a quick kiss, "I'll tell you if anything comes of it."

You can't wait.


	22. 20 Weeks

Gail leans against the headboard of the bed she shares with her wife. It's late, and she's tired, but she can't tear her eyes away from Holly standing the doorway of their master bathroom. Right now she's watching as Holly finishes her nightly routine, patting her face dry with a towel before she flips the light and comes into the bedroom.

At twenty weeks pregnant, Holly's firmly in her second trimester. She glows with it. Every day Gail is amazed at how strongly her heart beats for this woman, for the child inside. Every day she's delighted to find herself falling more in love.

Holly's pulled her dark hair up, and her face has that "just washed" sheen to it. Content at the moment to sit and ogle, Gail watches while the pregnant woman strips from the clothes she had been wearing. Holly stands in front of their bureau mirror in a mismatched bra and panties.

Gail takes in the sight.

_Glorious_, she thinks to herself. That's been one of her favorite things about this pregnancy so far-Holly's breasts. Amply-sized before, they'd gone up at least a size already as Holly's body changed in response to its new objective. For weeks they were off-limits, too sore and tender to be touched. But lately they were back on the table, and their increased sensitivity a boon rather than a burden. Gail's new favorite move is to make her wife moan just by focusing on her breasts. The sounds she makes are ... inspiring.

Holly catches her eye in the mirror and smirks.

_Busted_.

Unashamed, Gail keeps watching as her wife starts to massage moisturizer into her soft olive skin.

But Holly's breasts aren't the only part of her that's changed due to their child. Everything is just the slightest bit rounder now, her cheeks, her jawline. Even her hips.

And then there's her belly. Gail is fascinated by her belly, how it seems to be growing so slowly and so fast at the same time. She's read a book or two, the baby's still not quite a pound, and probably not much bigger than a small melon. Still pretty small. In fact, some people still don't know that Holly's pregnant. If she's wearing a looser shirt and you don't know her that well, you might not even notice the miracle she's carrying around with her.

Gail kind of likes this, it still feels like their secret, their amazing, wonderful secret.

"Hey, Officer Peck," Holly says in an amused tone, drawing Gail out of her reverie, "what are you looking at over there?"

Gail smirks.

"You," she says, "just you."

"Wanna be helpful?"

Gail pats the space between her legs, beckoning Holly to come and sit. "I suppose I could make myself useful," she says, taking the tub of lotion from Holly's hand as her wife settles down in front of her.

Celery recommended the stuff, it's supposed to help with stretch marks. Gail's skeptical about it's medicinal value, but helping to apply it means getting to touch Holly's belly and boobs, so who is she to cast a wary eye?

She gathers some of the gunk into her hands as Holly leans back against her. Slowly, gently, she massages the stuff into her wife's hard belly.

"Mmmmmm," Holly says appreciatively.

"Long day," Gail asks, making wide circles with her hands.

"Two autopsies, a lot of time on my feet."

"Your back hurting?"

"Just the usual," the brunette says, "twinges and soreness."

Gail tilts her head to kiss at the side of Holly's neck.

"We get to see the baby again this week," Holly says, suppressing a groan.

Gail unsnaps the front clasp of Holly's bra and slowly peels it off before covering her palms in more gunk before moving her hands to her wife's chest.

Holly can't suppress the groan this time; it bubbles up from deep in her chest.

Gently caressing her wife's breasts, Gail smiles into the skin on Holly's shoulder, raking her teeth over the skin and then soothing over the patch with the flat of her tongue.

"We," Holly breathes heavily, "we have to decide if we want to know the sex or not."

"Yeah," Gail says, circling the brunette's nipples with her fingertips. "What do you want to do?"

Holly gasps, and her hands, braced on Gail's legs, clench involuntarily.

"Ahhhh," Holly says, "I think-Jesus, Gail-I think we should wait. I want it to be a surprise."

Gail peppers hot little kisses along her wife's upper back.

"Okay," she says, "then we wait."


	23. Little Things

Right now? At this exact moment?

Pregnancy is not her favorite thing.

Morning sickness had hit her hard a few days ago and not really let up since.

She's spent the first part of every morning with her head resting on the cold tile floor of their bathroom. One morning Gail made her eggs for breakfast and she'd barely made it to the sink before throwing up the tea and saltines she'd forced down just an hour or so earlier.

Work's been even worse. Normally, her stomach was strong as steel; she was the only person in her gross anatomy class to not throw-up the entire semester, in fact. But this whole week she'd barely been able to do autopsies. And when she had been able to do her job, she'd had to keep a spare trash can within reach at all times.

Just in case.

And if the vomiting wasn't bad enough, she'd been hit with an exhaustion that she could feel deep down in her bones. If she managed to stay for her entire shift, she usually fell asleep in the car as Gail drove them home, had been spending her evenings slipping in and out of consciousness, her head on Gail's lap as they watched tv. And then some days, days like today, she just gave up and went home sick, unable to stomach struggling through the exhaustion or the nausea at the lab. When this happens, Gail's been catching rides home with one of the boys, and then spends some time puttering around the house quietly before waking her up with a cup of steaming hot tea.

Gail takes good care of her. She always has. Sure, her wife isn't really one for big, grand gestures, not really. But she is one of the sweetest people that Holly knows. It's the little things, the daily things she does that mean so much, that show her love. And this pregnancy has just brought it even closer to the surface. The tea, for one. Gail has one ready and waiting for her each morning, always cooled to just the right temperature by the time the nausea has passed enough to start drinking it. When she can she drops another off at the lab sometime during the day, like she's got a sixth sense for when Holly needs something warm and comforting.

There's the way Gail has mysteriously stopped needing coffee in order to function in the mornings anymore, and how they've spent the past few weekends doing low-key things-a movie, a quiet dinner out, a Netflix marathon-rather than going out to the Penny or other things that Holly either has no appetite or no energy for right now. The way the fridge is suddenly stocked with more fruits and vegetables than Gail has ever been interested in in her life, despite the fact that Holly is usually the one to do the shopping and hasn't gone for at least two weeks now. The sweet, slow kisses her wife's been giving her whenever they say goodbye, a gentle hand over her still flat belly.

All these things and more tell Holly just how much she is loved, just how much Gail loves her.

Holly pulls the car into the driveway and makes her way into the house. She throws her coat and bag onto the chair in the corner, and heads to the bedroom to change into something loose instead of the jeans that are starting to seem just a little bit tight.

She'll just nap on the couch for awhile.

Gail'll be home soon.


	24. Birth Day

Your wife's hair is wet with sweat, and wisps escape from the braid you pulled it back into hours ago to curl around her tired, happy face. Her red eyes shine with tears; you've been crying from the moment you heard your baby cry, the moment the doctor announced that your beautiful wife had given you a daughter.

Holly's labor had been hard, hard and long. You'd lost count of how many times you'd wished you could exchange places with her, take her pain and frustration and even fear into yourself, even for a short while.

Instead, you'd done your best to be whatever she needed during the 36 hours she labored to bring your daughter into the world. You'd paced halls with her, you'd been her pillar when a particularly large contraction made her stop and pause in the hospital hallway. You'd fed her ice chips and teeny, tiny sips of water. You'd told her every stupid joke you knew, made up silly little songs to make her laugh in-between the pains.

You'd held her hand, rubbed her back, let her yell very un-Holly-like things at you. And in the terrible moments toward the end, when Holly cried with pain and wept with frustration, when Holly had so little strength left to keep up the difficult task of breathing and waiting and pushing, you'd climbed into the bed behind her. You pulled her back against you, clasped her hands in yours and laced your fingers together. And then you whispered into her ear, told her all the things you loved about her, how kind she was, how beautiful, how strong.

When the next contraction came, and the next, and the next, you held her body to yours, moved with her, breathed as one. Until, with a powerful grunt torn from deep in her chest, it was over.

And as she fell back against your body, a cry pierced through the room. You barely heard the doctor announce your daughter's arrival.

"Congratulations, moms, it's a girl."

You felt your wife's back hitch with a weak laugh, and her voice, raw with exhaustion and hours of strain but full of wonder, was the first clear sound that made it into your brain since your daughter's first cry.

"A girl, Gail. We have daughter."

You can feel the tears on your face but you've never cared less about someone seeing you cry.

One of the nurses beckons you over to where he's standing near Holly's legs, and you place a kiss at the nape of your wife's neck before slowly and gently rising from your place at her back. The nurse has your squawking daughter in his arms, and you laugh at how furious and red your little girl's tiny face is.

"Once you cut the cord," he says, "you can introduce her to your wife for a few minutes while we help deliver the afterbirth and make sure everything's okay down there." You nod, and take the medical scissors from him with trembling hands.

One snip later, and the connection between Holly and the baby is severed. The nurse places your daughter, loosely wrapped in a blanket, in your arms.

You've never touched anything so priceless before, never held something in your arms that was worth so much, loved so much. You raise the bundle slowly to place a kiss on your daughter's forehead, not caring that she's still covered in vernix and amniotic fluid. "Hi, baby, we've been waiting for you," you say, before bringing her to rest safely against your chest while you carefully bring her up to Holly.

Your baby's throaty cries are starting to quiet as you gently, gently, gently lower your precious cargo into your wife's open, waiting arms.

"Holly," you say, committing to memory this first moment between the two most important people in your life, "meet your daughter."


	25. Accidents Happen

You're in the middle of a heap of paperwork when your assistant peeks her head through the door.

"Inspector Peck," Jenny says, "I have an Officer Durant for you on line one."

"Thanks, Jenny," you responds putting down your pen and taking off your glasses. "Oh, Jenny," you call after the younger woman, "can you dig up last year's excessive force complaints file? I'm going to need that data to put together this report for the meeting next week."

Jenny nods and pulls the door closed behind her.

You rub at the bridge of your nose before reaching to pick up the phone.

"This is Inspector Peck," you say.

The conversation is brief, but when you hang up the phone your brow is troubled. Immediately, you pull out your cellphone and call Gail, frowning when it goes straight to your daughter's voicemail. You leave a message, and then dial your son, mouth pursed with displeasure as you get his voicemail as well. Quickly, you gather up your jacket and purse, and then call Jenny into your office for a moment.

"I need you to track down my daughter," you says quietly, "and have her call me as soon as possible."

Jenny stops writing mid-sentence. "Ma'am?" she asks.

"There's been a car accident, my daughter-in-law is at the hospital, her car was totaled, and I can't get a hold of Gail. Call Frank over at the 15 and explain what's going on; he'll know how to get in contact with her."

"Will do," Jenny says, and after a pause, "and your daughter-in-law, she's okay?"

"It sounds like she's mostly shaken up-a few cuts and bruises," you answer. You hope to God that's true, because you know how important Holly is to your daughter. If anything happened to her wife, or the child she carries, you know it would devastate Gail.

Jenny nods and pats your arm as you leave, your final instruction to your capable assistant to cancel anything on today's schedule, because you'll be out for the rest of the day.

Gail still hasn't called back by the time you arrive at the hospital. A nurse escorts you back to the exam room where your daughter-in-law is sitting on a bed looking shaken. There are cuts on her face, one or two apparently deep enough to require stitches, and you can see bruises already forming. Her left wrist is wrapped in a splint, and she's cradling her belly with her uninjured arm.

There's a loud noise out somewhere in the chaos that is the city's biggest emergency trauma center, and Holly looks up, noticing you for the first time.

"Elaine," she says, her normally strong and confident voice quiet, a small tremble echoing through the word. "I'm sorry for bothering you, but Gail's in on a big drug bust today and I don't want her worrying about me-"

She pauses and you see something in her face shift before she continues.

"I don't want her worrying about us when she should be keeping her mind on staying safe."

You can see the worry in her eyes, you recognize it well. You know what people say about you and your uncompromising dedication to your work, but just because you can watch your husband, son, and daughter strap on their guns and go out into the streets doesn't mean you can ever forget about the dangers the streets can hold. But there's something else bothering your daughter-in-law and you take a moment to observe her while you take off your jacket and move over to stand by the exam bed.

Aside from the wrist and the lacerations, she seems to be in one piece, but she won't look up at you, won't meet your eyes. Instead, she just stares at her stomach, at the child your daughter is so excited about.

"Holly," you quietly, taking her uninjured hand in your own, "are you okay? Is the baby okay?"

She freezes at your question, and then something you don't expect happens. She breaks. Crumpled into your chest, your daughter-in-law weeps while you hold her.

When she finally speaks, you can barely hear her.

"I haven't felt-" she starts, "I haven't felt the baby move for a while. After the accident she was kicking up a storm, but then she just stopped. I've been sitting here, trying to wake her up, and she's not moving." You've never heard this woman sound so scared. Not even when Gail was in the hospital and went from "concussion" to "brain surgery" in the space of hours.

The sliver of ice you felt in your chest when you received the phone call grows into a shard.

"Hey," you say, stepping close enough that her belly brushes against you. "I'm sure everything's going to be just fine. He's probably just sleeping, that's all. Now, has a doctor been in to examine you and the baby?"

"They're bringing an ultrasound machine in," she says, wiping at her eyes.

You're sure they are, but it probably wouldn't hurt to light a fire under someone out there. You assure Holly that you'll be right back, and then you pull back the curtain, ready to do what you do best.

Within ten minutes there's a portable ultrasound next to Holly's bed and the deputy head of the department of obstetrics is smoothing cool gel over your daughter-in-law's stomach. You're very good at throwing your weight around, after all.

As he waves the wand over her belly, Holly clenches tightly at your hand. Every moment of silence is tragic. And then suddenly, majestically, the sound of a rapid heartbeat fills the small space of the exam room. Holly lets out a relieved gasp.

"Okay," the doctor says, "heartbeat sounds good. Strong and fast, just what I'd expect for a 28-week fetus."

"Everything's okay," she asks, a little worry still in her voice.

"Take a look for yourself," he says, turning the monitor to face the two of you at the head of the bed.

You've seen the previous ultrasound pictures, but this is different. This is beautiful. There on the screen is your daughter's first child; that is the sound of your grandchild's heart beating. You can't help it, you grip Holly's hand a little tighter.

"Now," the doctor says, "looks like the baby was just sleeping, that's all. Because I'm seeing no reason to suspect that the accident caused any harm to your child. You should make an appointment with your OB-GYN to follow up but everything looks great, mom."

He smiles at the two of you, and you mouth back a grateful "thank you" as he starts to pack up his equipment. He starts to wipe the gel off Holly's belly, but you put your hand over his and take the towel to clean her up yourself.

It takes another hour or so to get Holly signed out of the ER, but soon you're settling her into the bed she shares with your daughter. You put a glass of water on the bedside table, and then against her protests that you don't have to stay, you kick off your heels and sit down in the plush armchair in the corner of the room. Quietly, you start to tell her about your pregnancy with Gail, how even as a fetus that girl was infuriating. How she'd sleep all day-you wouldn't feel a single kick-but the moment you climbed into bed she'd get busy testing the limits of her small, temporary home. Without fail.

Eventually, Holly's eyes drift closed and she slips into sleep.

You could go, you know, but you have a vigil to keep.

You still haven't heard from Gail, but your husband texted you an hour or so ago. He'd been to the impound lot-the car was completely totaled-and was in contact with the insurance company already.

It's dark out when you finally hear the front door open and you leave the bedroom to meet your daughter.

She almost collides with you in the hall.

"She's okay," you say before Gail can even regain her balance. "Sprained wrist, a few cuts, some bruises, but she and the baby are fine."

Your daughter wraps you up in tight, desperate hug.

"Thank you," she says, "thank you for being there for her today. When I got back to the station and Frank pulled me aside, I was sure that something-"

"Shhh," you cut her off. "Don't even think about it. She's okay, your baby's okay, and I was glad that I could be there for her, and for you."

The two of you enter the bedroom quietly, and in the quiet light from the lamp over the chair in the corner, you can see Holly sleeping soundly in the bed. The tension in Gail's body melts away. You give her a quick rundown of what the doctor said, and Holly's aftercare instructions, and then you turn to leave and let your daughter join her wife in bed, hold her close.

You're putting your shoes back on in the living room when Gail comes back out.

"Mom," she says, "you should have this," handing you a small square of paper.

It's an ultrasound photo, folded and creased and well-loved.

You look up at your daughter, a little confused, and even in the dim light you can see her blush.

"It's the first ultrasound photo. It's silly, but, well, I keep it in my pocket, right behind my badge. It makes me feel like they're with me all the time, like they're watching over me. And today, when they needed me, you were with them because I couldn't be. So I want you to have this."

You thank her and give her a quick hug before sending her back to her wife and baby.

When you get to your office the next morning, you'd swear to the fact that yesterday's mound of paperwork has doubled.

But, you think, looking over at the little slip of paper propped up against an old family photo on the corner of your desk, you've got someone to keep you company while you get it done.


	26. Building a Bridge

Gail stays with you that night, after the shootings and the kiss and the hospital waiting room. Sam Swarek will live, Chloe Price is still unconscious, and Oliver, Gail's Oliver, is a little confused but will be just fine in a day or two. It has been a long, terrifying day, and from what Sergeant Best says, the officers only have a few hours until they have to be back at the 15. So you tug a quiet Gail toward your car, knowing that if you don't get her out of there now, she'll end up staying all night and going straight to the station in the morning.

You've just pulled out of the parking lot when Gail lays a hand on your arm.

"Holly," she says, and you can hear threads of today's fear and worry woven through the sound of her voice, "can I just ... can we ..."

You stop at a red light and turn your head to look at her.

She looks small, like the events of the past two days have broken away parts of her, cut her down.

She's always so brave, Gail is. You can't imagine the strength it takes to go out into the streets, knowing that someone is hunting down the people you care about, knowing that you might find yourself staring down the barrel of a gun. But Gail does it because that's just who she is. Dedicated, honorable, loyal. Words that can't even begin to describe the woman sitting next to you.

It says something about her, you think, that she's stumbling now, that she doesn't seem to know how to ask for what she wants.

You decide to cross the line for her, to help her across the bridge.

"Hey," you say, looking into her eyes, "do you want to stay over tonight? It's just, it's been a long and scary day, and I really don't want to be alone yet."

Relief flashes across her face immediately, and she smiles.

"That, nerd," she says, "sounds like a good idea."

At your apartment, you dig up some pajamas for her-just sweatpants and a sinfully soft old t-shirt from college-and then leave her to change in the bedroom while you putter around in the kitchen. When you return, two cups of cocoa in your hands, the sight of her in your clothes makes your belly do a pleasant little flop. But you shove down your reaction and hand over one of the mugs.

There's a self-consciousness, a delicate awkwardness vibrating in the space between you two. And while there's nothing you'd rather do than wrap her up in your arms, and continue the delicate exchange of kisses she'd started earlier in the interrogation room, or at the very least, talk it over, you know that there are more pressing needs to attend to right now.

You let her finish her drink before you take the mug from her hands and put it on your dresser, right next to yours, and then sit back down next to her on the corner of your bed.

"So," you start, "there are some things we should talk about. But," you say, watching a range of emotions streak across her tired features, "we're not going to do that now. We're both exhausted. So we're going to sleep. Because tomorrow morning is going to come way too soon, and you're going to have to go to work and not get shot at. But when you get off, if you're ready, we can talk then. And if you're not ready to talk, then we'll wait until you are. Okay?"

Gail looks at you gratefully, and gives you the gentle smile you're starting to realize is reserved just for you.

"Okay," she says, and squeezes your hand.

You rise and pull back the covers of your bed, motioning for her to lay down. And while she gets settled, you turn off the lights and set the alarm for a time that is definitely going to come too soon. And then you get in on your side, pulling the comforter up over your tired body. The last thing you remember before slipping into unconsciousness is the feel of Gail reaching for your hand, threading her fingers between your own.

A perfect fit.


	27. Figuring It Out

Your daughter is five hours old when you wake to find Gail gently dancing back and forth in front of the window, rocking the small bundle in her arms.

You watch while she whispers in your daughter's ears, not wanting to intrude on this little moment. You want to remember it forever, you're determined to capture it forever in your memory. Already bits of the past two days are slipping away from you, already the memory of the pain and the fear isn't as sharp as it was. The doctor in you knows that it's due to hormones and the chemical reaction your body goes through after labor. The mother in you knows that it's love.

The same love you feel right now, watching your wife and your newborn baby dance in the faint light of the early morning sun.

After a few minutes, Gail catches sight of you watching and gives you a shy smile.

"Hey," she says, coming over to the bed, "we were trying to let you sleep for a little longer."

You reach out to take her hand in yours. "It's okay," you say, and it is. "Last I remember we were all taking a nap together-did she wake you?"

Gail nods and sits on the bed, waiting until you've scooted over a bit before transferring your squirming daughter into your arms.

"I think she's hungry," she says.

You've fed her twice now, once just after she was born, and then again a few hours ago. But both times there was a nurse there helping you figure it out. You're not sure if you're ready to try on your own this time.

Gail must see your uncertainty because she offers to call a nurse in to help again.

But you shake your head. You have Gail with you, she's all you need.

So she unbuttons the pajama shirt you changed into after your labor was finally over, and then helps you get your daughter into position before taking up position in front of you on the bed. Her eyes shine with faith in you, and your heart trips into love with her all over again.

You look down at your daughter in your arms, her tiny lips pursed open, and lift your arm just the slightest bit until her mouth captures your nipple and begins to suckle.

You inhale sharply at the sensation, and you can feel Gail tense next to you.

"Does it hurt," she asks tentatively.

"No," you respond, "it doesn't hurt, it just feels ... strange. Not like anything I've ever felt before."

Gail nods and reaches out a hand to cradle the back of the baby's head, like she can't stand to not be connected to the two of you in this moment. You don't blame her. You can hardly believe you and Gail created this perfect little person, this beautiful baby girl with a thick shock of dark black hair and dark, dark eyes.

The two of you sit in the quiet room and watch as your daughter's head gently bobs in time with her feeding.

"You know," Gail says, breaking the silence, "she still needs a name."

It's true.

You two have struggled for months to find a girl's name for the baby. You've discussed everything from the traditional (Caroline and Sarah and Emily) and the familial (Elaine and Stephanie) to pop culture references (Beyoncé had made someone's list somehow) and the absolutely ridiculous (Iphigenia and Moonbeam). Maybe it was because the boy's name came so easily, but trying to find a name that sounded right for a daughter had so far proven impossible.

"Have any ideas," you ask quietly, smoothing down the baby's hair.

"Actually," she says, "I kinda do."

She reaches to the bedside table where you see the name book the two of you bought together months ago.

"I was looking through some of the lists we've made, and I noticed that there were two or three names that you put on almost every single one."

"Yeah," you say, starting to feel tired again, "what were they?"

"Well, there was Abigail-which I still say is a no for obvious reasons."

You huff at that. You're very fond of Abigail.

"Okay, then there was Joanna."

You let the name roll around in your mouth for a moment, and look down at your nursing daughter.

"No," you say, "I don't think Joanna's a good fit for her."

"Alright," your wife says, "last one, and I have to say, it's kind of growing on me."

You don't even have to hear Gail to know which name she's going to read off next.

"Katherine," you say with her, and you're amazed at how right it sounds.

"Katherine," Gail repeats, the beginnings of a smile curling in the corners of her mouth, "Katherine."

She looks up at you and you nod.

"What do you think, baby girl," you whisper to the milk-drunk infant in your arms, "Katherine?"

You look up at Gail and smile.

"I think we just named our daughter," you say.

"I think we did," your wife responds, and then leans in to give you a kiss.

When she pulls back you sigh contentedly, and then bring Katherine up to kiss her forehead.

"Welcome to the world, Katherine Abigail Peck," you say.

You can't help but smile as Gail looks up at you in protest.

"No arguing," you say in a sugary tone, "nine months of pregnancy and thirty-six hours of labor means that if I want her middle name to be Abigail it's damn well going to be Abigail."

Gail holds up her hands in mock surrender. "Sounds fair," she says, "and 'Peck?'"

"You know I only kept Stewart for professional reasons, right" you say, and she nods, "I want her to be a Peck. I want everyone to know that you're her mom and that she's your daughter. I want her to be a Peck because I know it means something to your family, to you."

She doesn't say anything for a full minute after, you're not even sure she breathes.

And then she's moving up the bed to sit right next to you and you flash back to earlier that morning, how she squeezed into the birthing bed behind you when you didn't think you could go on, how she became your strength.

"Holly," your wife says seriously, almost breathlessly, "you know that you are everything to me, right? That you and our daughter are everything to me?"

"Yes," you whisper, because it's true. Just as they are everything to you.

She pulls you close, puts one arm around you and the other comes to rest on the belly of the sleeping baby in your arms.

"Thank you so much, Holly," she whispers against your skin, "thank you for loving me. Thank you for our daughter. Thank you for everything."

You turn your head just the slightest to capture her lips. "I love you," you whisper against her mouth, feeling her smile as the words sink in, and then the whisper of her response against your own.

"I love you too."


	28. Ride Along

She's not yours anymore, you realize as you watch her put the finishing touches on her makeup in the hallway mirror of your home. Your baby girl is all grown up, and in a few hours, she's going to be someone's wife.

Oh, she's been an adult for a while now, sure, but there's a difference between being legally able to vote and drink and get married and being a person who understands what all those rights and responsibilities truly mean. You can see, now, in the steady hand that outlines her lip with her usual dark, vibrant red color, in the confident way she steps into her heals and smooths down the front of her soft blue dress, she understands. You feel it in the way she grabs your hand and pulls you out the door, the peck she places on your cheek before sliding into the front passenger seat. She's all grown up now, and you're in awe, wondering how that could have happened. Wondering how this beautiful woman could have slipped in and taken the place of the sweet little girl who used to sit on the porch and wait for you to come home.

If you squint hard enough, you can see pigtails in her hair and scrapes on her knuckles.

"Dad," she asks, shaking you out of your memories.

"Right," you start to sing, "gotta get you to the church on time."

"Daaaad," Gail moans, looking skyward, and you remember the time you came home from work to a furious argument between your wife and a teenaged Gail with hair as blue as her eyes.

"Alright, alright, hold your horses." You put the car into gear and pull out of the driveway, embarking on what feels like a final journey with your only daughter.

It's a beautiful day, and you've got some time, so you drive a little slower than normal, enjoying these last few moments with your daughter before her wedding.

"Hey," she turns toward you, "I've been meaning to ask, how come you insisted on driving me today? Alone?"

You've been wondering when she was going to ask about that. You haven't stood your ground often with your wife, but on this you stood firm. Elaine had wanted the two of you to rent some sort of car and arrive at the municipal center together with Gail. But you had refused, and not just because a fancy car and a last-minute talk with your wife would have filled Gail's belly with the wrong sort of butterflies on this happy day.

But you don't plan on telling Gail that, of course.

Instead, you grab for her hand. It's bigger than it was the first time you held it, but the way the feel of her palm in yours brightens the corners of your heart hasn't changed at all.

"Do you know," you say, easing to a gentle stop at an intersection as you enter the downtown area of the city, "that I have driven you to most of the big events in your life?"

You look over at her confused face.

"What are you talking about," she asks, scrunching up her nose.

"You and me, kid. It's tradition. I drove your mother to the hospital while she was in labor with you, and then home again with you just a day old in a carrier in the back seat. I drove you to your first day of kindergarten, of high school. I even dropped you off at the precinct on your first day at the 15. So today," you say, turning down the street in front of the courthouse where the rest of your family is gathered and waiting, "I'm driving you to your wedding. It's kind of the end of an era."

There's a thoughtful look on your daughter's face, and she squeezes your hand.

"I'm sorry, you know, about the no 'walking down the aisle' thing. It just didn't feel right, not without Holly's dad here too and—"

"Hey," you say, squeezing back, "I know all that. I understand. I'm not upset." And you're not. You're just sorry that Holly's dad isn't able to be here, isn't able to see the way his daughter's eyes sparkle whenever she looks at your girl, or how the two of them fit together seamlessly, two halves of a single heart. No man should miss his daughter's wedding, and later tonight at the reception you'll lift a glass in Ian Stewart's honor, a private toast to a fellow father. A promise to look after what's his.

You park the car outside the courthouse and walk around to help Gail out. She stumbles a little as she stands, and you catch her in your arms, steadying her.

This girl—this woman. You can hardly believe it.

"Hey," you say quietly, "I just want you to know how proud I am of you, Gail. You are an amazing woman. You are a good cop. And you will be a wonderful wife. All your life I've watched you work hard and love fiercely. And you've had some stumbles, and you've had some rough times. But you are the strongest person I know, and you have the gentlest heart. And I am so proud to call you my daughter, Gail. And I just wanted you to know that before I take you over to the beautiful woman waiting for you."

"Dad," she says breathlessly, and you can see her fighting the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

"Hey, hey," you pull her close, "no crying now. You'll just have to do your make-up again."

You can feel her laugh against your suit coat, and she squeezes you tight.

The two of you make your way over to the small crowd gathering on the steps of the building. Your wife frowns at you and fixes your tie, but you know she's just as affected by what's about to happen as you are. Your son and his family have arrived, and Steve's bouncing Ethan on his hip while Traci wipes at an imaginary smudge on Leo's forehead.

Holly's family has all assembled as well. Her mother and step-father, a man you've already enjoyed several good beers with, flank the woman who is about to become your daughter-in-law. Holly's grown siblings are laughing at some antics her two youngest brothers have just performed. And your almost daughter-in-law? Holly can't take her eyes off your Gail.

You catch your wife's eye and smile.

You know the feeling well.

The ceremony is quick and easy. The girls exchange their promises to each other and then their rings, the officiate pronounces them married, and then they sign the license. Your daughter, that tiny girl you could once fit in the palm of your hand is somebody's wife now.

Back outside the courthouse, a limo rolls up; your wife looks over at you in surprise and you shrug. "She's too happy to be embarrassed now," you say.

Plus, you've paid the driver a couple extra hundred to make sure he delivers the newlyweds to the Penny for the reception. You know your daughter, she's going to try to convince Holly to skip the party and have the driver take them anywhere else instead. You're mostly sure that Holly won't let her.

But it never hurts to have a backup plan.

Later that night, at the Penny, you watch your daughter and her wife laugh, and tease, and dance, and kiss. You watch Gail toss back shot after shot with her friends, and see Holly sneaking her glasses of water whenever the boys aren't looking. You dance with your all your girls—Elaine, Gail, Traci, Holly—and even take a spin around the dance floor with your grandson, letting him stand on your toes while you shuffle back and forth.

Years ago, the first time you'd held Gail in your arms, you'd wonder what the future would hold for her, this little girl.

You don't remember what kind of life you dreamed for her, you can't recall any of the specifics, but you know that you hoped she'd be happy, that she'd be love and be loved. There'd be times in her life when you weren't sure she'd ever get to this place, that she'd ever find what she was looking for.

You shouldn't have worried, watching as she slow dances with her wife, the two women gently swaying the the center of the room.

Life is a curious, mysterious, beautiful thing, you think, swinging Ethan up into the air.

You're just glad to be along for the ride.


	29. Planning

"Mom, no," you can hear Gail, "no, we're not having the wedding at the Drake."

The door to the fridge slams, and you can hear the hiss of a beer bottle being opened.

"No. Mom. Seriously. How many times do I have to tell you, simple. Small."

Gail comes into the living room, rolling her eyes to high heaven as she sips from her beer.

You pat the empty cushion next to you on the couch, and takes Gail's feet into your lap when she flops down with a tortured sigh.

"No, you cannot invite them to the wedding. It's literally going to be family only. Holly's family, you and dad, Steve and Traci and the kids. That's it."

You giggle. She puts her beer down on the coffee table and starts playing with your fingers in the light of the sun.

"Ma, no! You cannot invite all those people to the reception!"

You tickle her foot with your free hand and she slaps at you playfully.

"Because I don't know a single person you just rattled off, that's why."

You figure they'll be at this for a while.

Doesn't mean you can't have a little fun.

You start tracing your fingers up and down her bare legs, slowly moving higher and higher until you're drawing patterns on the soft worn denim shorts covering her thighs. Gail inhales sharply as you toy with the edge of the fabric, letting the pads of your fingers dip just under to tease at the smooth skin beneath.

You can't help but smirk as she sits up abruptly and ends the call with a sharp "Mom, I gotta go" before tossing her phone to the floor.

"You are in so much trouble," she says before pouncing.

The smirk gets wiped off your face pretty quickly.


	30. I've Been Waiting

For most of her life, Holly was resigned to the idea that she was never going to marry anyone.

At first it was because of the cooties. Boys had them, everybody knew that. Just like everybody knew that if you wanted to avoid getting cooties yourself, you had to stay away from boys.

She remembers telling her mom as much one night as she was being tucked into to bed. She can still see her mother's face, illuminated by the soft glow of the nightlight in the corner, the one they kept because Allison, who was almost five now, was still afraid of the dark. Her mother laughed.

"Oh, Hol," she had said, "you may think boys are gross now, but one day you'll change your mind. One day you'll meet someone very special, and you'll want to spend the rest of your life with him. You'll just be walking along, and suddenly, there he'll be. And you'll hear your heart say 'hello, I've been waiting for you.' And then you'll know that you've met the person you want to spend the rest of your life with."

"No. I won't," she'd said back smartly, six years old and so sure she already knew all the corners of the world.

"You just wait and see, my girl, you just wait and see," her mother said before rising to pull the covers up over the sleeping girl in the next bed and heading for the door.

Her mother's words had stuck with her, and so for the next several years, Holly remembers waiting, and waiting, and waiting for that switch to flip. For her floppy-haired buddies on the boys' soccer team to make her stomach knot up and her palms sweat instead of the lithe and graceful girls on her own.

She waited.

But nothing changed.

Eventually she stopped waiting.

Eventually she figured out that nothing was going to change.

She could date the boys in her class, order pizza and fool around on the couch, hold their hands at the movies and cuddle close on the cold walk home after. She could slow dance with them, she could tell them she loved them, she could climb into backseats and fog up the car windows with them.

But at night, alone in her bed with her sister asleep across the room, she was still going to dream of soft lips and silky hair, breasts and nipples and smooth, smooth legs. She was still going to wake up with a gasp, hot and sticky and struggling to breathe, and it wasn't going to have anything to do with her boyfriend or the latest actor that Allison and all the other girls were currently obsessed with.

And when her mom married Dan, Holly remembers holding a bouquet of flowers in her hands and trying, trying, trying to be okay with the idea that she was never going to have this moment. That no one was ever going to vow to love, obey, and cherish her in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, as long as they both shall live. And then seal their promise with a kiss.

Later, after the ceremony, her mom thought the sheen in her eyes was happy tears.

Holly wasn't brave enough to correct her.

It was during her college years that the door was finally, officially, legally re-opened to her. There's not much that Holly remembers from the night the passing of the Civil Marriage Act, but what she does remember is the rasp of her girlfriend's tongue down the skin of her neck, the burn of whisky in the back of her throat, the beautiful feeling that finally, finally she was allowed to have all the same hopes and dreams as everyone else.

Time and life moved on, and so did the girlfriend. And there were a few others here and there after. Some she'd liked, and some she'd loved, but none made her think of her mother's words to her, so long ago. To be honest, she'd mostly forgotten about them.

And then one day, out of the blue, in the middle of the wood, there was Gail.

And nothing has been the same since.

Holly feels her mother squeeze her shoulder, pulling her out of her thoughts to point out the car that's just pulled up and parked.

All she can see is Gail, her gorgeous, amazing Gail walking towards her. A vision in a soft blue dress that gathers drapes over her frame in a way that makes Holly's mouth go dry and her pulse pick up.

"Hey," Gail says, her voice shy but her face so beautifully open and free and happy.

"Hello," Holly says back, leaning forward to capture bright lips in soft kiss, "I've been waiting for you."


	31. A New Hope

Katie is just about a month old when Gail introduces her to _Star Wars._

It had been, from what Holly's text told her, a terrible day. Gail had gone back to work just that week, and her wife and daughter were slowly getting used to being on their own. The first couple of days had gone well enough, and Gail had come home each night to a kiss from Holly and a just-fed baby girl to snuggle with. It hasn't been easy-Holly's more tired now that she's on Katie-duty by herself all day long-and Gail struggles to leave the house every morning, and finds herself thinking of her girls all day long, but so far it has been okay.

But on the fourth night, when she let herself into the house she could hear the still not-quite-familiar sound of Katie crying coming from the living room.

"Hey, hey," Gail said, her bag and coat forgotten in the entryway, "what's up?"

Holly was standing in the middle of the room, her dark hair pulled back into a messy ponytail and her eyes red with tears. Katie was up against her shoulder, her tiny body tight and red with frustrated rage. The little girl's shrieks filled the room, drowning out the nonsense sounds Holly was making as she patted gently at their daughter's back.

Seeing her standing in the doorway to the living room, Holly's face crumpled, and she started to cry openly. Gail rushed forward to wrap her arms around her girls, careful not to smush Katie between them.

"What's going on, baby," Gail asks, moving to shift Katie into her own arms. She can feel how tense the little girl is, how her daughter resists being cradled in her mother's arms. Gail's body starts to sway almost unconsciously as she tries to rock and calm her crying daughter.

"She won't stop crying," Holly says, turning her head into Gail's shoulder as they sway together in the dim room. "It's been two hours. She woke up screaming and she won't eat, she doesn't need to be changed, and I can't get her to stop. I tried everything I could think of, but Gail, she won't stop crying."

Holly sounds exhausted, and for the millionth time since she first put her uniform back on, Gail regrets her decision to go back to work.

"Okay, babe," she says to Holly, whose body seems almost as tense as their daughter's, "why don't you take a seat on the couch and let me try to calm her down for a bit. You just take a few minutes for yourself, okay?"

Holly nods and moves to sit on the couch.

"Here, lay your head down here," Gail says, positioning one of the couch pillows for her wife, "and just try to relax, okay? I'm going to take our cranky-pants here upstairs and see what's going on."

She wants to stay and soothe her wife, but the crying baby in her arms isn't going to help Holly relax. So instead of joining the brunette on the couch and holding her close until her breath evens out and her tears dry up, Gail draws a blanket up and over her wife's body and uses her free hand to brush away a gathering teardrop from Holly's dark eyes.

"Get some rest, love," she says.

Upstairs she tries everything she can think of to calm Katie down. She gently bounces the girl on her shoulder; she tries to burp her, thinking maybe she's got gas or something; she tries to feed her a bottle, even, of milk that Holly's pumped and stored in the fridge for the times when Gail gets up with their daughter in the middle of the night. She rocks her in the chair that Holly's folks gave them, she puts her in one of the baby slings and settles Katie's ear right against her heart, and she tries swaddling the little girl up in one of the many soft little blankets they've received from friends and family over the past few weeks. She gives her a soother to suck on, but Katie spits it out three times in quick succession. She tries a bath, but the warm water and gentle washcloth only enrage her daughter more. She even tries putting her down in her bassinette, thinking that maybe Katie just wanted to be left alone for a bit.

Nothing works.

Katie's cries are as loud and as steady as ever.

So they pace. Gail sets Katie up against her shoulder, convinced that the girl's crying gets just the slightest bit quieter in that position, and she starts walking from room to room, turning her head every now and then to press a kiss against her baby girl's soft dark hair.

"Okay, baby girl," Gail says, "what's going on with you, huh? What's with all these tears?"

They walk all around the upstairs a few times, Gail talking quietly the whole time, before she decides to check in on Holly.

Her wife, it turns out, is sound asleep on the couch in the living room. After drawing the curtains closed and turning on a dim lamp in the corner of the room, Gail heads to the kitchen to call out for some dinner.

Miraculously, by the time the delivery guy arrives with the food-he actually follows her instructions to text instead of calling or ringing the doorbell, which earns him a _very_ generous tip-whatever funk Katie was in seems to be coming to an end. She's still crying, but it's definitely less angry and desperate than it was an hour ago. Not by much, but it's a start.

She dumps a couple of slices of pizza on a plate and then takes her dinner and her daughter up to the room she and Holly share.

Gail sets the pizza on the night table, and slips a dvd into the player before settling back against the headboard and moving Katie from her shoulder to the crook of her arm.

The volume is low, and she can't hear the music over Katie's whimpers, but she's seen this movie a million times.

"Well," she says looking down at her daughter, "if you keep crying you're going to miss the movie. Yes, you are." Gail tickles her fingers against tiny, tiny feet. "And this is a good one. It's about a princess and a spaceship pilot with an awesome best friend and a dumb farm kid who would probably chop off his own head with his lightsaber if not for Obi Wan Kenobi..."

So Gail sits in bed, absent-mindedly eating a slice of pizza, and narrating the movie to the girl in her arms. She almost doesn't notice when Katie's cries finally quiet down, but she does notice when the little girl starts to nuzzle into her chest right around the time the Obi Wan dies.

"Good luck getting anything from there, kiddo," she says and pauses the movie, "you're confusing me with your mom."

She puts Katie down in the bassinette and hurries down to the kitchen to make up a bottle, padding quietly through the living room to check up on Holly, who is still sleeping.

A few minutes later, she and Katie are settled in the big queen-sized bed again, the little girl greedily (and a little noisily) eating while Gail fills her in on what's happening on-screen.

Halfway into _The Empire Strikes Back_ Holly appears at the door, blanket wrapped around her shoulders and the pizza box in her hands.

"Hey," she whispers, "she finally settle down?"

Gail nods to the bundle between her legs, glad to see that Holly looks like she got some much needed rest, "it took a while, but I think she dropped off right around the time Luke started talking about womp-rats."

Holly crawls onto the bed, careful not to jostle their sleeping daughter. "I'm sorry I fell asleep and left you to deal with her," she says, cuddling close into Gail's side.

Gail wraps an arm around her wife and pulls her in even closer. "No apologies. The kid was being a pain and you were exhausted. You needed the sleep. But I'll definitely keep this in mind the next time we're arguing about whose turn it is to change her."

"I'm sure you will," Holly says and traces a finger along Katie's cheek, "but I still think I'll win. I've got stretch marks and labor on my side."

Gail chuckles quietly.

"How'd you get her to calm down," Holly asks between bites of pizza.

"Believe it or not," Gail responds, sneaking a bite from Holly's slice, "the epic saga of the Rebel Alliance against the Galactic Empire. What can I say, the girl's got good taste."

Holly smiles and snags another slice from the box on the bed. "Mmmhmmm," she says. "You fed her?"

Gail thinks for a moment, "A while ago now. She'll probably need to be fed and changed again soon."

"Good," Holly says, rubbing at her heavy breasts, "because I do not want to pump tonight."

"I know," Gail gives her wife an apologetic look, "I should have woken you to feed her but you'd had a rough day. I just wanted you to get some sleep."

Holly plants a delicate kiss on the blonde's shoulder, and then her cheek.

"Don't worry about it, Gail," she says, "we'll just finish watching the movie and I'll feed her when she wakes up."

Gail leans over to catch her lips in a sweet kiss, and then they settle back against the headboard to watch as Luke and Leia and Han and Chewie and the whole rest of the Rebel Alliance race to save the galaxy from the Darth Vader and his Galactic Empire while their daughter gently snores between them.


	32. Heat Wave Burning in My Heart

It's the hottest summer Toronto has had in almost forty years according to the meteorologist on the news this morning.

Five straight days of temps in the 90 degree range. Not counting the humidity even.

Today was day six.

You're almost nine months pregnant, it's 90-something degrees outside at seven in the evening, and when you got home from work two hours ago, the air conditioner wasn't working.

And the fucking repairman laughed when you asked him how quickly he could get here.

The baby stretches, and you can feel the sharp pain of a foot kicking against your ribs.

Not only has it been a long, long day. Not only is your home hotter inside than out, and sweat dripping with every move you make. But the baby in your womb has been super active today, and every time you thought you found a comfortable position, the baby had started kicking up a storm.

These aren't pregnancy tears.

These are mad-as-hell tears.

And, yes, sweat-got-into-my-eyes tears.

But mostly the second one.

When you hear Gail's key in the door you don't even bother calling out. The heat has sapped most of your energy, and what you have left you're keeping to fuel your anger. She'll find you; it's not hard these days, you're as big as a house.

"Hey, Hol," she says in a questioning tone as her boots clunk against the stone tiles of the kitchen. You can visualize her perfectly.

Her tall, thin figure. Her long blonde hair pulled back into a messy bun. The dark cotton uniform that the department insists is breathable and fit for these temperatures but your wife insists is like wearing a hair shirt all day. The way she steadies herself against the wall as she kicks off one heavy boot, and then the other.

"Christ, Holly, it's like a sauna in this place," she says as she comes into the living room where you're currently sitting on your exercise ball, sweat dripping down your face and back. Now you're visualizing cold places. Siberia. Alaska. Antarctica.

"AC's on the fritz," you answer, eyes still closed. If you concentrate hard enough, you can almost feel the kiss of snowflakes against your skin.

Gail comes up behind you, her hot body blocking the breeze from the oscillating fan you've got going in the corner.

"Oh, honey," she says as you feel her fingers gather up the hair that's escaped from your braid, "how long have you been sitting here in the heat? You should have called me."

"Not long. It wasn't too bad at first, it was mostly cool for the first hour. I called the repair guy and he put us on his list." You lean forward, away from her heat and her fingers. Normally you love the feel of her hands on you, her skin against yours. But you are hot and sticky and the last thing you want is something else hot and sticky touching you.

Luckily, Gail takes the hint and steps back.

You hear fabric rustle and then hit the ground as she moves around to come and sit on the coffee table in front of you.

"Did they tell you how long until they'd be here?"

"Well, once he stopped laughing at me, he said someone would be out to look at our system eventually," you say and wipe some sweat off your forehead, "but I got the impression eventually doesn't mean tonight."

She swears softly.

When you open your eyes to look at her, she's sitting in front of you in a pair of panties and a white cotton tank top. And her pale skin is reddened-she must have been out in the sun for a while at some point.

"Okay," she says, "here's what we're going to do. First, we're going to cool you down. Because babe, you're starting to puddle."

You smile as Gail reaches forward to grasp the hem of your shirt. She draws it up over your chest, and you lift your arms to help as she pulls it up over your arms and tosses it on the floor. You're still in your bra, but the air moving across your bare shoulders feels good.

"I'm going to get some things together, and call back that jerk of a repairman," your wife says as she stands up. "You just sit here for a few more minutes and I'll be right back, okay?"

She spends the next ten or fifteen minutes running up and down the stairs. You hear rattling in the kitchen, and at one point, a furious whispering. But soon enough she's standing before you again.

"Alright babe," Gail says to you with a mischievous smile, "let's go upstairs. I've got something that will help with the heat."

She takes your hands and helps you up off of the ball, steadying you as you adjust to your body's new center of gravity.

The two of you climb the stairs slowly.

She takes you into the bathroom and you gasp. You have the best wife ever.

She's turned your master bath into a spa. The lights are down low, and she's found and hung a string of Chinese lantern patio lights that gently illuminate the tub. And there's a stack of fluffy white bath towels on the floor next to a bucket of ice.

"Now," she says, "let's get you cooled down, okay?"

With her help you strip out of your bra and panties and the big pair of boxer shorts Gail went out and bought for you earlier this week when you decided it was too hot to sleep in your usual pajama pants. You probably should have gone with her, because she came home with a pair that had big red lipstick prints all over them.

You've got your hands on her shoulders for balance as she kneels before you to help you step out of your clothes. When she pauses for a moment, you look down at her and feel some of the tension and frustration slip away.

"Hey, beautiful," you say to her, and let a hand rub gently against her cheek, thinking of other times in you've been in similar positions.

Predictably, she blushes a bit. All these years and she still blushes to hear you call her beautiful.

"That's my line," she answers back with a delicate smile before turning her head and dropping a kiss on your inner thigh.

In minutes she has you situated in the tub that she filled with cool water. And then she starts adding cubes of ice from the bucket at the side of the tub.

It feels like heaven.

Gail takes an old Tupperware bowl and starts pouring cold water down your back.

"Scoot forward a bit, babe," she says, "so you can lean back and dunk your head."

You do as she suggests, and sigh with pleasure as she supports your head with one hand while pouring water over your scalp and hair with the other. You can actually feel your body temperature lowering as the ice melts and the cold water works its magic.

"Join me," you ask once you're sitting up against the wall of the tub again, head resting on a rolled towel that your wife slipped under your neck.

"I wish I could," she says as she dumps some more ice into the tub, "but the AC guy is supposed to be here within the hour and I've got to let him in."

You lay there watching Gail's face as she traces her fingers along your skin, easing away the tension of the day. If there's something you're going to miss about being pregnant, and there's not a lot, it's that sweet smile she seems to reserve for these quiet moments as she plays with your belly. Right now she's chasing the baby's kicks with the tip of her forefinger.

The warm feeling spreading through your limbs has nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with how in love your gorgeous wife is with your unborn baby. And the way her lips purse into a soft pout when her phone interrupts the quiet of the bathroom.

"The AC guy is here, Hol, will you be okay for a bit?"

You smile and wave for her to go. You'll be okay in the meantime.

She checks in on you a few times during the forty-five minutes it takes for the repairman to get the AC working again, refilling the water for you and bringing more ice.

And ice cream.

Because your wife is awesome.

The air kicks on and a few minutes later Gail comes back in.

"You, wife," she says with a laugh, "are starting to look like a raisin. Let's get you out of that tub and dry."

Gail helps you dry off as the house cools down, and you sigh in relief when you enter the bedroom and the cold air on your neck makes you shiver. You pull on another pair of boxers-this pair is covered in balls, basketballs, baseballs, soccer balls, even golf balls-and a sports bra. Gail rebraids your hair and helps you put on your socks before going back to clean up the bathroom and grab a shower for herself.

All in all, it wasn't a bad night.

Of course, when you wake up the next morning in a chilly room with a desperate need to pee, you hear rain against the windowpanes. And when the meteorologist on the morning news reports that the heat wave has finally broken, you can only laugh before slipping rather clumsily back into bed with your wife and kissing her awake.


End file.
